


A Second of Clarity, A Lifetime of Change

by Nexas_Hart



Category: Addams Family - All Media Types, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Addams Family Fusion, BAMF Harry Potter, BAMF Minerva McGonagall, Harry Potter was Raised by Other(s), Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Protective Minerva McGonagall
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-23
Updated: 2020-12-22
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:02:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 26,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24880498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nexas_Hart/pseuds/Nexas_Hart
Summary: Minerva McGonagall makes a single decision. One large, split second choice to help a small child grow up loved. He'll be fine with this other family. Old acquaintances of hers. They're all but used to magic anyways.And if there's anything odd about the boy from his experiences with You-Know-Who? Well, the entire family is a bit peculiar.
Relationships: Albus Dumbledore & Minerva McGonagall, Draco Malfoy & Harry Potter, Gomez Addams & Harry Potter, Gomez Addams/Morticia Addams, Harry Potter & Ron Weasley, Harry Potter & Severus Snape, Hermione Granger & Harry Potter, Minerva McGonagall & Harry Potter, Minerva McGonagall & Morticia Addams, Morticia Addams & Harry Potter, Morticia Addams & Wednesday Addams, Rubeus Hagrid & Harry Potter, Wednesday Addams & Harry Potter
Comments: 41
Kudos: 471
Collections: Best Harry Potter Crossovers, Harry Potter, La familia addams





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Trying my hand at this. Have fun with it.

Chapter 1

“Fancy seeing you here, Professor McGonagall.”

The professor shifts back to her normal form, keeping her gaze on the headmaster. It’s about time. She’d been waiting here all day.

“How did you know it was me?”

“My dear Professor, I’ve never seen a cat sit so stiffly,” Albus Dumbledore responds, that usual glimmer of amusement in his eyes.

A flicker of discomfort pulses through her back. “You’d be stiff if you’d been sitting on a brick wall all day.”

“All day? When you could have been celebrating? I must have passed a dozen feasts and parties on my way here.”

Frustration and annoyance flow through the stern woman.

“Oh yes, everyone’s celebrating, all right. You’d think they’d be a bit more careful, but no- even the Muggles have noticed something’s going on. I was on the news.” She jerks her head back at the Dursley’s living-room window, lights now put out for the night. “I heard it. Flocks of owls… shooting stars… Well, they’re not completely stupid. They were bound to notice something. Shooting stars down in Kent- I’ll bet that was Dedalus Diggle. He never had much sense.”

“You can’t blame them,” the older man’s eyes soften. “We’ve had precious little to celebrate for eleven years.”

“I know that,” McGonagall’s frustration abates, slightly, but not entirely. “But that’s no reason to lose our heads. People are being downright careless, out on the streets in broad daylight, not even dressed in Muggle clothes, swapping rumors.”

She all but glares at her companion, trying to stare the answers she wants out of him. She gets nothing.

“A fine thing it would be,” she continues. “If, on the very day You-Know-Who seems to have disappeared at last, the Muggles found out about us all. I suppose he really has gone, Dumbledore?”

“It certainly seems so. We have much to be thankful for. Would you care for a sherbet lemon?”

“A what?”

“A sherbet lemon. They’re a kind of Muggle sweet I’m rather fond of.”

“No, thank you,” she recognizes Dumbledore’s attempt at derailing the conversation. “As I say, even if You-Know-Who has gone-.”

“My dear Professor,” Dumbledore interrupts. “Surely a sensible person like yourself can call him by his name? All this ‘You-Know-Who’ nonsense- for eleven years I have been trying to persuade people to call him by his proper name: Voldemort.” McGonagall flinches involuntarily, frowning at the man as he casually unsticks two sherbet lemons. “It all gets so confusing if we keep saying ‘You-Know-Who’. I have never seen any reason to be frightened of saying Voldemort’s name.”

A trickle of annoyance and exasperation goes through McGonagall. Surely, he understands why that is.

“I know you haven’t,” she voices her thoughts. “But you’re different. Everyone knows you’re the only one You-Know-,” she hesitates for a moment. “Oh, alright, Voldemort- was frightened of.”

“You flatter me,” Dumbledore gets that far off look of when he’s remembering something. “Voldemort had powers that I will never have.”

“Only because you’re too- well- noble to use them.”

“It’s lucky it’s dark. I haven’t blushed so much since Madam Pomfrey told me she liked my new earmuffs.”

Exasperation now worn out, and patience worn thin, McGonagall decides to approach the real topic she wanted to discuss.

“The owls are nothing to the rumors that are flying around. You know what everyone’s saying? About why he’s disappeared? About what finally stopped him?”

She needed confirmation or denial. From him. No rumors, no owls. Face to face, she needed to know. When she gets no response, a small crack of doubt appears in her heart.

“What they’re saying,” she carries on, despite her sinking feeling. “Is that last night Voldemort turned up in Godric’s Hollow. He went to find the Potters. The rumor is that Lily and James Potter are- are- that they’re- dead.”

When the wizened old wizard in front of her bows his head, her heart all but shatters.

“Lily and James…” She gasps. “I can’t believe it… I didn’t want to believe it… Oh, Albus…”

“I know…” Dumbledore pats her on the shoulder. “I know…”

“That’s not all,” she can’t help the tremble in her voice. “They’re saying he tried to kill the Potters’ son, Harry. But- he couldn’t. He couldn’t kill that little boy. No one knows why, or how, but they’re saying that when he couldn’t kill Harry Potter, Voldemort’s power somehow broke- and that’s why he’s gone.” A nod from Dumbledore shakes her even more. “It’s- it’s true? After all he’s done… all the people he’s killed… he couldn’t kill a little boy? It’s just astounding… of all the things to stop him… but how in the name of heaven did Harry survive?”

“We can only guess,” says Dumbledore. “We may never know.”

Tears well up in McGonagall’s eyes, she quickly pulls out her lace handkerchief to dab at them. Through that blurry vision, she sees Albus pull out his pocket watch. An old thing, with planets moving around on it instead of hands and numbers. She’d never gotten to learn how he manages to keep time with it.

“Hagrid’s late,” he says as he replaces the watch in his robe. “I suppose it was he who told you I’d be here, by the way?”

“Yes,” McGonagall has managed to tame her sorrow for a time. “And I don’t suppose you’re going to tell me why you’re here, of all places?”

“I’ve come to bring Harry to his aunt and uncle. They’re the only family he has left now.”

Horror strikes through the woman. “You don’t mean- you can’t mean the people who live here?” She jabs her finger at the offending house. “Dumbledore- you can’t. I’ve been watching them all day. You couldn’t find two people who are less like us. And they’re got this son- I saw him kicking his mother all the way up the street, screaming for sweets. Harry Potter come and live here!”

“It’s the best place for him. His aunt and uncle will be able to explain everything to him when he’s older. I’ve written them a letter.”

That knocks the wind out of her sails, so to speak. She sits back down on the wall, stunned.

“A letter? Really, Dumbledore, you think you can explain all this in a letter? These people will never understand him! He’ll be famous- a legend- I wouldn’t be surprised if today was known as Harry Potter Day in the future- there will be books written about Harry- every child in out world will know his name!”

“Exactly,” the man replies in such a serious tone that it causes her to blink in shock. “It would be enough to turn any boy’s head. Famous before he can walk and talk! Famous for something he won’t even remember! Can’t you see how much better off he’ll be, growing up away from all that until he’s ready to take it?”

She deflates a bit more. She’s hesitant still, and she’s about to voice it before she sees the look in his eyes. She can tell he’s thought this through, and it does make sense.

“Yes- yes, you’re right, of course. But how is the boy getting here, Dumbledore?”

She gives a quick glance at his cloak, like the boy could be hidden there. The man has done stranger things.

“Hagrid’s bringing him.”

This causes the woman to blink in surprise.

“You think it- wise-,” she prods cautiously. “To trust Hagrid with something as important as this?”

“I would trust Hagrid with my life.”

“I’m not saying his heart isn’t in the right place,” she admits. “But you can’t pretend he’s not careless. He does tend to- what was that?”

In the air around them, a low rumbling sound can be heard. They glance around the street, looking for any sign of a vehicle as the noise grows louder. Then, just as they look up, a motorbike all but falls from the sky onto the road in front of them.

Rubeus Hagrid, in all his gargantuan glory, dwarfs the vehicle. In his arms, all but invisible due to its small size, is a bundle of blankets.

“Hagrid,” Dumbledore sighs, relief evident despite his supposed confidence in the large man. “At last. And where did you get the motorbike?”

“Borrowed it, Professor Dumbledore, sir,” he replies, carefully climbing off of the bike. “Young Sirius Black lent it me. I’ve got him, sir.”

A pang of sympathy goes through the woman at the mention of the Potters’ best friend. He’s always been reckless, and she’s a small bit worried about how he’s reacting to all of this.

“No problems, were there?” Dumbledore carries on with the questions.

“No, sir- house was almost destroyed but I got him out all right before the Muggles started swarmin’ around. He fell asleep as we was flyin’ over Bristol.”

As McGonagall looks into the bundle of blankets, sadness and warmth flood her heart, all at the same time. The child is so innocent, and yet she sees the scar on his forehead and-.

“Is that where-?” She whispers.

“Yes,” Dumbledore responds. “He’ll have that scar forever.”

“Couldn’t you do something about it, Dumbledore?”

“Even if I could, I wouldn’t. Scars can come in useful. I have one myself above my left knee which is a perfect map of the London Underground. Well- give him here, Hagrid- we’d best get this over with.”

McGonagall thinks the jokes and attitude are a bit uncouth of the man. She’s starting to feel heartbroken at this entire ordeal. At least she can hear Hagrid’s whimpering in sadness at the event.

“Could I- could I say goodbye to him, sir?” The half-giant sniffles.

Giving the boy a large, whiskery kiss, the man then lets out a dog’s howl, causing the Professor to jump in surprise.

“Shhh!” She attempts to hush him. “You’ll wake the Muggles!”

“S-s-sorry,” he sobs, taking out his own large handkerchief to bury his face in. “But I c-c-can’t stand it- Lily and James dead- an’ poor little Harry off ter live with Muggle-.”

A wave of understanding and sympathy flows through the Professor as she pats Hagrid on his arm. Still, she has to calm him down.

“Yes, yes, it’s all very sad, but get a grip on yourself, Hagrid, or we’ll be found.”

The two of them watch as Headmaster Dumbledore walks the bundle up to the front door of the house. Laying Harry gently on the doorstep, he tucks a letter into the blankets before turning and joining the other two outside of the garden.

Hagrid’s shoulders shake with repressed sobs. While McGonagall tries to blink away the tears that are forming in her eyes. Even the usual twinkle in Dumbledore’s gaze has gone out. They stay like that for what seems like eternity to the younger Professor, but what was probably a mere few minutes.

“Well,” Dumbledore snaps them out of their trance. “That’s that. We’ve no business staying here. We may as well go and join the celebrations.”

“Yeah,” Hagrid replies, voice muffled by the handkerchief. “I’d best get this bike away. G’night, Professor McGonagall- Professor Dumbledore, sir.”

“I shall see you soon, I expect, Professor McGonagall,” Dumbledore nods to her.

McGonagall just blows her nose in reply, still trying to process what they’re doing. She knows this is what’s best for the boy. To be with his family. As she exhales, she slowly shifts herself back into her cat form. With one last look at the bundle on the porch, she begins her walk off of this street. She turns the corner right after Dumbledore returns the light to the lamps.

With that light, however, comes a sort of clarity. An idea forms in the back of her mind. A memory, and a longtime acquaintance that would be more than happy help her. She can’t just leave that boy with those people. Who knows how they might treat him, family or not. The person she’s thinking of though, would care for the boy like her own. She would be aware of the boy’s gifts, and what his fame could mean without allowing it to go to his head. He would be guaranteed to grow up loved and with enough of a knowledge of the Wizarding world to prevent him from being overwhelmed when it comes time to rejoin it.

McGonagall, knowing Albus wouldn’t approve, waits until she sees him Disapperate away. Then, quickly and quietly, she stalks up to the porch of the house and turns human, lifting up the precious boy gently. A small smile appears on her face as she looks down at him. With her mind made up, she walks out of the yard. She has an owl to send.

***

“Thank you for coming on such short notice.”

“Of course, Minerva. Your letter said that time was of the utmost importance. Now, what is it that you need? You know that you can always rely on me. Whether it’s for a quick hex, or maybe you need a good vial of poison to help you?”

“No, no,” the Professor shakes her head. “Nothing like that. What I need is actually- well- it’s a bit peculiar, to say the least.”

“Wonderful!” The woman in front of her smiles. “Does it happen to have something to do with that bundle in your arms. It seems to radiate death in a most fascinating way.”

The longer she speaks with her former classmate, the more she remembers about the oddities of this particular wizarding family. Seemingly obsessed with Dark Magic, but not in such a way that it has drawn negative attention from the Ministry. Professor McGonagall knows she can trust the woman in front of her, but she’s still slightly hesitant as she holds out the boy.

“My,” a gasp is heard. “Such an interesting scar. That pattern, and that magic. Why,” she looks up at Minerva. “This couldn’t possibly be that young Potter boy, could it?”

“It is.”

“What is it you need me to do? I can’t remove the scar. Its magic is too heavily tied to the boy’s soul, and there’s something more to it as well. Besides, it’s such a wonderful thing to have a scar at such a young age, especially one as telling as this.”

“I don’t need that,” McGonagall shakes her head. “I was actually wondering if you might look after the boy. I know you and your husband have started trying for a family. He needs someone who can raise him, but our only other option are his last living relatives. His mother’s side. Both Muggles, and after observing them for an entire day, I can’t stand leaving him to them.”

The woman’s eyes grow gentle as she accepts the bundle from McGonagall. “Of course, Minerva. He will make a fine addition to our household, and I’m sure Gomez will be just as agreeable.”

A smile of relief forms on the Professor’s face. “Thank you, Morticia.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Took the dialogue at the beginning pretty much verbatim from the book. Wanted to show that the choice McGonagall made was something that could've happened in any universe. That there was no actual change in her interaction beforehand.
> 
> It also feels a little nice that, just like in the books, it's a small act of love that causes such a big change in the larger characters' plots.
> 
> Sticking it to Dumbledore is just a bonus.
> 
> Comment and Kudos. Don't be mean.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First day of school!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finally found my Harry Potter books!!!!!!
> 
> I can finally keep writing this. I'm basically going to be writing the book based upon how I believe a Harry Potter-Addams would act. It'll probably have a decent amount of changes to it, but the plot should stay close to the same.
> 
> Hope you enjoy this chapter.

Chapter 2

“Good show, Harry.”

“Thank you, Father.”

Both of them bow respectfully as they sheathe their sabers. Gomez Addams smiles proudly pats his eldest’s head.

“Your dueling is coming along quite nicely. Just think about what you will be able to do with a wand.”

“Come now, Gomez,” Morticia glides into the family room. “I know how much your morning duels mean to you both, but we must be getting Harry ready. He’ll be leaving for school soon.”

“Right so, my love,” the man agrees. “What else needs to be packed?”

“Nothing, Father,” a young female voice sounds from outside. Wednesday Addams drags in a large trunk, face completely blank of emotion. “I have already packed everything that Brother might need during his studies.”

“Excellent, Daughter,” Gomez responds jovially.

Morticia, on the other hand, frowns thoughtfully. She pulls a dark, slender wand out of the sleeve of her dress and gives it a fluid swish. The top of the trunk swings open, seemingly of its own accord, and all of the items within begin to float into the air. The matriarch of the household frowns at some of the contents.

“Wednesday, darling,” she begins magically replacing most of the items. “I thought I told you to wait until you yourself are attending Hogwarts before you start sabotaging your brother’s luggage. It would be highly inconvenient if you damaged or corrupted any of his potion supplies with these.”

Left outside of the trunk are a pile of dungbombs, picked up on their last visit to Diagon Alley. The young saboteur shows the barest degree of disappointment at being caught in the act.

“Come now,” their Father gives a sympathetic smile. “Jealousy is unbecoming of an Addams. You’ll be attending next year.”

“I don’t see how age should have anything to do with my eligibility to attend the school, or receive a wand,” the ten-year-old girl frowns, annoyed. “I am as accomplished in potions and magical theory as any of the other witches that will be in attendance.”

“Yes,” Morticia strokes her daughter’s hair. “I do agree with you, but there are reasons to wait until eleven to gain a wand and attend school. Until then, we will continue your home studies. Now, come. You and Pugsley can go with us to drop Harry off at the station.”

***

“Mother, Father, Sister, Brother. I will be off then.”

Harry bids his family goodbye, a small and loving smile on his face as he does.

“Remember, Harry,” Morticia warns. “No lethal poisons or killing without consent. They frown on that here. And say hello to Minerva for me, it has been a few years since she has come to check up on you.”

“Do enjoy yourself,” Gomez smiles at his son. “I have never attended, but Morticia tells me it’s a wonderfully ancient gothic castle. I will have to see if I can visit on a later date.”

With a few more farewells, he begins to drag his trunk, owl, and bag onto the Hogwarts Express. As he starts to pull his trunk up the steps, he’s tempted to use magic to levitate the heavy thing.

“Here, let us help.”

Two older boys grab either side of the trunk and lift. Identical, with red hair and a mischievous look in their eyes that he sometimes sees from Pugsley when he’s planted an explosive in Uncle Fester’s bathtub.

“First year?” One of them asks as they set their load down with all of the others.

Harry sets Hedwig with the other pets. Wednesday questioned the snowy owl’s color, but after being bitten due to the slight, her sister quickly grew to enjoy the bird’s haughty and predatory presence.

“Yes,” Harry nods, extending his hand. “Harry Potter-Addams. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

The other twin takes his hand, but at the mention of his name, both sets of eyes zero in on the boy’s forehead. Already slicked back with no small amount of hair product, the scar is in full view.

“Blimey,” the one shaking his hand exhales. “You’re Harry Potter. Name’s Fred. Fred Weasley.”

“George,” the other introduces, shaking Harry’s hand as his brother release. “It’s our pleasure. If you ever need anything when we get to Hogwarts, just ask for the Weasley twins.”

“Thank you again,” Harry’s smile widens in delight. “I will be sure to take you up on your offer.”

They part ways, and Harry looks for a cabin to sit in. There are plenty, but many of them are already occupied. He’d be happy with making more friends, as he assumes Fred and George now are, but intruding on their conversations without cause would be rude. Instead, he finds an empty cabin to slip into.

“Mum, mum,” he hears outside of the train. Looking he spots the Weasley twins speaking to an equally redheaded older woman.

“Guess who we spotted on the train,” the other twin joins.

“Harry Potter.”

The young girl near the matriarch perks up and starts tugging at her mother’s sleeves.

“Mum, can we go see him?” She begs slightly.

“Come now, Ginny darling,” the mother reprimands. “He’s a young boy, not an animal on exhibition.”

“Pardon the intrusion, but did you say that you’ve met our young Harry?”

His father and family come waltzing up confidently. The contrast between the bright red hair of the Weasleys and the dark hair of the Addams is an interesting contrast.

“It’s good to see our son getting to know people before he even makes it to the school,” Gomez smiles at the group.

“Gomez, love,” Morticia gives a soft smile. “We should introduce ourselves.”

“Of course, my love,” he looks back at his wife. Then, turning back to the other family. “Gomez Addams, forgive my rudeness. Everything here is just so excitingly weird. Running through a wall, a towering castle, and that Knockturn Alley that we visited just the other day. It has been so long since I’ve last been anywhere near you wizards, and you always have so much to amaze me with.”

“I am Morticia Addams,” the woman bows her head slightly. “And this is Wednesday and Pugsley. Wednesday will be attending Hogwarts next year.”

“It’s very nice to meet you,” Mrs. Weasley performs a small curtsey in greeting. “These are two of my boys, Fred and George. We currently have three boys who have been going to Hogwarts, and our young Ronald will start attending this year. Ginny here,” she strokes the girl softly on the head while smiling at Wednesday. “Will be attending next year, as well.”

“Nice to meet you,” Ginny nods in greeting, slightly nervous.

“And you,” Wednesday blinks at the girl, look of curiosity on her face.

The train whistle blows, cutting off whatever Mrs. Weasley would have said next.

“Fred, George,” she starts pushing her two boys onto the train. “Best get on the train before it leaves without you.”

“Yes, Mum.”

“Wouldn’t want that now, would we?”

***

“Do you mind if I join you? All of the other cabs are full.”

Harry looks away from the window and sees the source of the voice. A red-haired boy, robes worn down by use and a nervous look on his face.

“Of course,” the chivalrous Addams give the boy a welcoming smile. “There is more than enough room.”

“Thank you,” the boy sighs in relief, stepping inside and taking a seat. “I’m Ron. Ron Weasley.”

“Harry Potter-Addams.”

“Bloody Hell,” the redhead curses. “I thought my brothers were joking when they said they’d met Harry Potter.”

“Fred and George?” Harry confirms, amused smile on his face. “Yes, they do seem like quite the pranksters.”

“That’s putting it lightly,” Ron snorts. Then, Ron frowns. “Potter-Addams? I’ve never heard of an Addams wizarding family before. Are they Muggles?”

“Half-bloods, in a way,” Harry smiles jovially. “I believe Father has a few witches and wizards on his side of the family, but you are right to say that the Addams are not a wizard family themselves. My mother on the other hand, is a member of the Frump family.”

Ron’s eyes widen at that. “Bloody hell, I’ve heard of them,” he gasps. “Dad says that they’re one of the Darkest families in the world.”

“Yes. They are. It is quite wonderful, don’t you think?”

“But they study dark magic. Like You-Know-Who.”

That causes Harry to laugh. “Yes, of course, but just because something is dark does not mean it is evil. Why, I had a wonderful talk with my grandparents on my stepmother’s side just the other week through a séance.”

That has Ron gaping, but the boy shakes himself out of it. “Anyway, what house are you hoping to get into? All of my brothers are in Gryffindor, but Fred and George keep on saying I’ll get into Hufflepuff.”

There conversation continues like that. Ron is expectedly shocked at Harry’s enthusiasm at his chance of getting into Slytherin, like his step-mother, but the Boy-Who-Lived also talks about how his family members have been in pretty much every house throughout the history of Hogwarts. They start talking about the classes, and making friends, and the different teachers.

“Do you perhaps know how they sort you into the houses?” Ron asks, a little nervous. “Fred and George said that I’ll have to fight some sort of magical creature.”

Harry is about to open his mouth to refute that, admittedly funny, prank when there’s a knock at the door. Harry slides it open to see an older woman with a cart full of sweets.

“Anything off the trolley, dears?”

“I am feeling slightly peckish,” Harry digs around in his pockets. He glances slightly at Ron, who is muttering something about sandwiches, before holding out a collection of coins. “I think we will have a few of each.”

“Of course, dearie,” the candy woman smiles as Harry collects the sweets as she sorts through the money.

The door closes as Harry dumps the candy onto one of the seats. “I did forget to eat breakfast after my duel with father this morning, but this should be enough for the both of us, don’t you think?”

Ron is gaping at the pile, then he looks back at Harry. “Both of us?”

“Of course. A feast is in order. To celebrate my first friend at Hogwarts.”

The Weasley boy’s face breaks into a wide smile as he digs into the food. They share a few of the boxes of Bettie Botts, laughing slightly when they get flavors either of them might dislike. They trade chocolate frog cards back and forth. Harry himself doesn’t have a collection, but Lurch and Thing have started gathering their own. They’ve finished most of the snacks when there’s another knock at the door.

“Sorry,” a boy peeks through the door. “But have you seen a toad anywhere?”

“Afraid not,” Harry says while Ron shakes his head.

“I’ve lost him! He keeps getting away from me!”

“Cheer up now,” Harry stands to pat the other boy on the shoulder. “I’m sure you’ll find him.”

“Thank you,” the boy gives Harry a grateful look. “But if you see him…”

“We’ll find you.”

With that, the boy leaves to go hunting again. Harry closes the door again.

“Don’t know why he’s so bothered,” Ron mumbles. "If I'd brought a toad, I'd lose it as quick as I could. Mind you, I brought Scabbers, so I can't talk."

Ron reaches into his pocket and pulls out an old, fat, grey rat. The animal is snoozing as Ron sets it on his lap.

“Toad, rat, owl,” Harry smiles down at the rodent. “I think all of them have their own good points.”

There’s another knock at the door. It opens to show a girl she glances around the room, before looking at its two occupants.

“Has anyone seen a toad? Neville’s lost one.”

“We’ve already told him we haven’t seen it,” Ron sighs a bit.

“But we said that we’d let him know if we did,” Harry tells her, a little more polite.

“Oh,” she frowns. “Well, I suppose it was nice to meet you. I’m Hermione Granger, by the way, and you are?”

“Ron Weasley,” the redhead mutters.

“Harry Potter-Addams,” the other boy introduces himself.

“Really,” she frowns at Harry, eyes flickering to the scar on his forehead for a moment. "I know all about you-- I got a few extra books, for background reading, and you're in Modern Magical History and The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts and Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century.”

“Yes,” he chuckles a little. “I’ve skimmed through the book myself. Quite a fascinating read if I do say so.”

“Do any of you know what house you’ll be in?” She continues talking. “I've been asking around, and I hope I'm in Gryffindor, it sounds by far the best; I hear Dumbledore himself was in it, but I suppose Ravenclaw wouldn't be too bad.... Anyway, I'd better go and look for Neville's toad. You two had better change, you know, I expect we'll be there soon."

Then, before either one of them can get a word in edgewise, she leaves. Both of the boys watch the place where she was previously, with different expressions, and impressions.

“She is quite a hurricane, is she not?” Harry closes the door again.

"Whatever house I'm in, I hope she's not in it," said Ron. “She’s a bit strange.”

“There’s nothing wrong with a little weirdness in your life,” the dark-haired boy smiles back. “It helps keeps things interesting, but she is right that we had better go get changed.”

They put on their robes and Harry started cleaning up all of the wrappers and boxes from the sweets. As they start sorting their remaining food, there’s another knock at the door. This time, however, it’s not Hermione or Neville.

“Is it true?” A blonde-haired boy focuses on Harry. “They're saying all down the train that Harry Potter's in this compartment. So, it's you, is it?"

“Yes,” the boy in question raises a hand to shake. “Harry Potter-Addams, and you are?”

Harry doesn’t just direct his gaze at the small blonde. He also looks behind, taking in the two burly boys that tower in the background.

“Oh,” the pale boy notices where Harry is looking. “This is Crabbe and Goyle.” The boy takes Harry’s hand. “And I’m Malfoy. Draco Malfoy.”

In the compartment, Ron gives an amused cough. Draco shoots the boy a look, sneering in distaste.

“Think my name's funny, do you? No need to ask who you are. My father told me all the Weasleys have red hair, freckles, and more children than they can afford.”

“Come now,” Harry smiles, stepping between the two boys. “There is no need insult each other. We will be at school together for seven years. A good rivalry is always just stupendous, but we should try to get along.”

With a snort of derision, Draco responds. “You'll soon find out some wizarding families are much better than others, Potter. You don't want to go making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you there.”

“The ‘wrong sort’ is merely a matter of opinion,” Harry keeps his smile. “I would be delighted to get to know you and your friends at a later date, but I will have to see you off for now. We should be arriving at the school soon, and I would like to finish getting ready.”

Malfoy gapes slightly, but he eventually recovers his senses. “Well then, I suppose we’ll see when we arrive at Hogwarts. I’d watch your step Potter, or you’ll end up like your parents.”

With a swish of his robes, the blonde child briskly walks away, with his two cronies following behind.

“Well,” Harry chuckles. “I had heard that some of the families were interesting, but I think I’m going to enjoy myself more than I had expected.”

"I've heard of his family,” Ron’s expression darkens a bit more. "They were some of the first to come back to our side after You-Know-Who disappeared. Said they'd been bewitched. My dad doesn't believe it. He says Malfoy's father didn't need an excuse to go over to the Dark Side.”

“Yes, well,” Harry smiles back at his friend. “There is something very alluring about the Dark. Besides, Mother says that having a rival is a part of the wonders of going to school.”

Ron blinks in surprise at that. He opens his mouth to says something when another person passes in front of their door.

“Oh,” Hermione smiles. “You’re dressed. I’ve just spoken to the conductor, and he says we’re nearly there.”

“Thank you, Ms. Granger,” Harry bows slightly. “Would you care to wait in our cab?”

“No,” she frowns. “Thank you, but I’d best be getting back to looking for Neville’s toad. “There are people outside rushing up and down the corridors. Quite childish, if you ask me. I don’t want anyone to step on it.”

Ron sends a quick glare in her direction as she leaves. The two boys that remain in the cabin talk back and forth as they enjoy the view of long plains making way for forests and mountain under a quickly darkening sky. Ron is apparently a fan of Quidditch. Harry has a minor interest. Aunt Minerva even bought him a broom to use at home. When he tells Ron that he’s thinking about trying out for the team, they boy is more than enthusiastic.

“A first year on the Quidditch team,” Ron gasps. “That would be brilliant.”

There conversation is cut short as a voice echoed through the train.

“We will be reaching Hogwarts in five minutes' time. Please leave your luggage on the train, it will be taken to the school separately."

Harry can tell that Ron is feeling a bit nervous, so he gives him a comforting pat on the shoulder. “Cheer Ron, everything’ll be fine.”

With that, the pair walk out into the corridor, following the throng of students as they shuffle out the doors of the train. As they do, they’re met with a shocking sight. A towering man in a ragged coat holds a lantern, bellowing out at the crowd.

“Firs' years! Firs' years over here!”

The pair approaches the man, and Harry smiles up, extending his hand.

“Good evening,” he introduces. “You must be Hagrid. Aunt Minerva speaks highly of you.”

The man looks down at him, squinting slightly in the light. That is until, a giant grin appears on his face.

“Blimey! If it isn’t Harry Potter! Look how big you’ve gotten! Why, I remember when you were a wee lad, snoozin’ away in me jacket! Have ta talk la’er, though. Got a job ta do, righ’ now.”

There’re a few whispers as his name is exclaimed by the large man, but Harry just takes it in stride. He’s proud of his heritage and name, and he’ll not let it deter or embarrass him.

"C'mon, follow me- any more firs' years? Mind yer step, now! Firs' years follow me!”

Harry slides a bit as he walks down the path, following Hagrid. He can’t help but marvel at the dark and foreboding forest surrounding him. Everybody else seems to be quite quiet, besides the occasional sad sniffling from Neville. Hermione is near the boy, trying to comfort him a small amount.

"Ye' all get yer firs' sight o' Hogwarts in a sec," Hagrid calls over his shoulder, "jus' round this bend here.”

Suddenly, amid gasps of awe, the narrow path opens to reveal a stunning view. On the other side of a great black lake, perched atop a mountain, is a vast, gothic castle, with sparkling window and turrets and towers casting shadows in the moonlight.

"No more'n four to a boat!" Hagrid calls, pointing to a fleet of little boats sitting in the water by the shore. Harry and Ron claim their own boat with Neville and Hermione joining them. "Everyone in?" shouts Hagrid, who has a boat to himself. "Right then -- FORWARD!"

The boats all take off at once, gliding over the calm and undisturbed surface of the lake. Everyone around them are stunned silent, staring up at the wonderous castle towering overhead.

"Heads down!" Yells Hagrid.

The first boats reached the cliff; they bend their heads and the boats carry them through a thick curtain of ivy that hides a wide opening in the cliff face. As they are carried along a dark tunnel, seemingly taking them right underneath the castle, they reach a kind of underground harbor, and clamber out of their boats onto the rocks and pebbles along the shore.

"Oy, you there! Is this your toad?" Hagrid calls, holding out a small animal in his large hand.

"Trevor!" cried Neville, holding out his hands.

After the boy secures his pet, they all follow Hagrid up and through a passageway, following his lantern until they emerge onto a small, damp field of grass in the shadow of the castle. They climb the rest of the way up some stone steps to a large, and ornately carved, oak door. Hagrid raises his large, meaty fist, before knocking three times.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like I said, I'm keeping the plot as close as possible to the actual book, with a few minor changes. It'll probably become slowly different than the actual book, but it won't have too many changes in the major plot points. It's really just something you might enjoy if you want a skewed plot to the Harry Potter story.
> 
> Let me know what you think. I thought I did a decent job at keeping a balance between the plot, and a mild Addams' reaction to the events.
> 
> I don't know when I'll be able to get the next chapter out. I've got a few other fics on my account and other ideas that I'm working on. They might not be what some of you would enjoy, but feel free to check them out.
> 
> On another note, this fic is having me reread the original Harry Potter books. Gotta say, JKR, the plot itself is fairly fun, but the way you write the story, describe the characters, and just try to draw people into the world leave much to be desired. Even for a children's/young adult's book, it's a little lackluster. Not impressed, Rowling. But hey, that's just my personal opinion.
> 
> Comments and Kudos. Don't be mean.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Sorting!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's hard work writing rewriting an entire book to fit a slightly skewed characterization.
> 
> I would like to apologize about my rant against JKR in the previous notes. This past chapter wasn't as bad when it came to writing. I guess she was a bit of a slow starter when she wrote her first book. I would like to say that the book being in past tense is a little annoying. It's why I tried to change the tense for my rendition. Just my personal preferences, though. To each there own.

Chapter 3  
The door swings open, showing a stern faced, black haired witch in an emerald green cloak standing in the doorway. To most, her look might be intimidating. To Harry, well, he just smiles at the sight of his Aunt Minerva.

"The firs' years, Professor McGonagall." Hagrid bows.

“Thank you, Hagrid,” she nods. “I will take them from here.”

The interior is just as wonderful as the exterior. Torches line the stone walls, with the ceiling stretching past the light of those torches into the darkness. At the end of the hallway, a marble staircase leads up to the upper floors.

Professor McGonagall, who Harry was asked to address as such while at school, guides them along the flagged stoned floor. The boy can hear a large collection of voices through the door to their right. It must be the other students. The first years, on the other hand, are all led to a smaller, empty chamber of the hall. It’s a tight squeeze to fit all of them in. The nerves from the assembled children are obvious.

"Welcome to Hogwarts," Professor McGonagall begins. "The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses. The Sorting is a very important ceremony because, while you are here, your house will be something like your family within Hogwarts. You will have classes with the rest of your house, sleep in your house dormitory, and spend free time in your house common room.

"The four houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Each house has its own noble history and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn your house points, while any rulebreaking will lose house points. At the end of the year, the house with the most points is awarded the house cup, a great honor. I hope each of you will be a credit to whichever house becomes yours. "The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school. I suggest you all smarten yourselves up as much as you can while you are waiting."

She sweeps her eyes over the assembled new students, seemingly noticing every small flaw in each and every one of their outfits.

"I shall return when we are ready for you. Please wait quietly."

As she leaves the chamber, a bit of rustling sounds around Harry as everyone starts to fix their robes or hair. Nobody speaks much, except Hermione. She starts whispering about various spells she’s learned, wondering which she might need during the Sorting. Harry sees a few people around the room who, like him, know how Hogwarts sorts their students. He doesn’t volunteer the information, though. He has heard that this can be a sort of right of passage for many families, and a little bit of nerves can help people in life.  
Then, something happens that causes a small bit of surprise in the boy, but it quickly makes way to an enthusiastic smile. A few of the people around him scream.

“What the-?!”

His smile widens as about twenty ghosts glide through the back wall. He’s had a few run ins with spirits and specters, but Harry had heard from his mother that Hogwarts was a regular gathering place for these slightly transparent entities.

None of the forms seems to notice the first years as they float through the chambers, so enraptured with their conversations.

"Forgive and forget, I say, we ought to give him a second chance-."

"My dear Friar, haven't we given Peeves all the chances he deserves? He gives us all a bad name and you know, he's not really even a ghost- I say, what are you all doing here?"

A ghost dress in pearly-white and faded ruff and tights finally notices the new students. None of the other children seem to wish to answer. Harry is about to address the ghost when he’s cut off.

“New students!” The one who was called the Friar exclaims, smiling as he spins around to take in everyone. “About to be Sorted, I suppose?”

There are a few nods from the stunned faces around the room.

“Hope to see you in Hufflepuff!” He continues on. “My old house, you know.”

“Move along now,” a sharp voice sounds from nearby. “The Sorting Ceremony is about to begin.”

Harry looks over to see that Professor McGonagall had returned. Spurred on by the surly Head of Gryffindor, the ghosts float through the wall, supposedly to the Great Hall.

“Now, form a line,” she orders the first years. “And follow me.”

Harry lines up with the rest of the students. He gives Ron a comforting pat on his shoulder before the other boy stands in line behind him. Harry turns around to face the sandy hair of the boy in front of him, before they walk out of the chamber, and through a towering pair of double doors, into the Great Hall.

The Hall that the doorway opens up to is a strange and splendid place. Lit by thousands and thousands of candles floating in midair over four long tables, the rest of the students sit and watch the first years file through the center. Laid out on each of these tables are a plethora of glittering golden plates and goblets. At the top of the hall another long table has what looks to be the teachers seated at it. Professor McGonagall leads the first years up to the front, coming to a halt in a line facing the other students, with the teachers behind them. The hundreds of faces staring at them look like pale lanterns in the flickering candlelight. The silvery silhouettes of the ghosts dot the hall around the students. Taking in the entirety of the wonderous room, Harry looks upward and saw a velvety black ceiling dotted with stars.

"It’s bewitched to look like the sky outside,” Hermione whispers. “I read about it in Hogwarts, A History."

Harry hears a tap. As he looks back down, he sees Professor McGonagall setting a four-legged stool in front of the first years. On top of the stool, she set a pointed wizard’s hat. Patched and dirty looking, but even with its look, and maybe because of it, Harry knows that it is an amazing magical object. It takes a few more seconds for anything to happen, but then, there’s a twitch from the headwear. A rip near the brim opens, revealing its mouth, and it starts to sing.

"Oh, you may not think I'm pretty,

But don't judge on what you see,

I'll eat myself if you can find

A smarter hat than me.

You can keep your bowlers black,

Your top hats sleek and tall,

For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat

And I can cap them all.

There's nothing hidden in your head

The Sorting Hat can't see,

So, try me on and I will tell you

Where you ought to be.

You might belong in Gryffindor,

Where dwell the brave at heart,

Their daring, nerve, and chivalry Set Gryffindors apart;

You might belong in Hufflepuff,

Where they are just and loyal,

Those patient Hufflepuffs are true and unafraid of toil;

Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,

if you've a ready mind,

Where those of wit and learning,

Will always find their kind;

Or perhaps in Slytherin

You'll make your real friends,

Those cunning folk use any means

To achieve their ends.

So, put me on! Don't be afraid!

And don't get in a flap!

You're in safe hands (though I have none)

For I'm a Thinking Cap!"

Thunderous applause meets the ending of the song, as the Sorting Hat bows to each Houses’ tables before straightening and stilling again.

“So, we’ve just got to try on the hat?!” Ron whispers fervently to Harry. “I’ll kill Fred, he was going on about wrestling a troll!”

Harry gives a small chuckle at that. He watches as Professor McGonagall unrolls a long piece of parchment.

"When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted," she calls. “Abbott, Hannah!”

A blonde girl walks forward, stumbling slightly as she steps out of the line. As she sits on the stool, McGonagall places the hat over her head. As it settles, the hole is wide enough to fall down over her eyes. There’s a pause before-

“HUFFLEPUFF!” The hat shouts.

Cheers and applause sound from the table on the right as Hannah walks over to it. He sees the Fat Friar smiling and waving from above the students.

"Bones, Susan!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!" Susan quickly scurries off the stool to take her seat next to Hannah.

"Boot, Terry!"

"RAVENCLAW!" The table second from the left claps this time; several of the older Ravenclaws stand up to shake hands with Terry as they spread to make room for him.

"Brocklehurst, Mandy!"

“RAVENCLAW!”

"Brown, Lavender!"

“GRYFFINDOR!”

The far-left table explodes into applause as she heads over to sit with them. Harry frowns a bit as the twins cat-call the young girl.

"Bulstrode, Millicent!"

“SLYTHERIN!”

There a good bit of applause from their table as the first year joins them. Not as enthusiastic as the others, but Harry had always heard the Slytherins were more reserved than the other houses.

"Finch-Fletchley, Justin!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

"Finnigan, Seamus," took almost a whole minute to be Sorted into Gryffindor. Probably the longest person so far.

As “Granger, Hermione” is called, she almost runs up to the stool and jams the hat onto her head. Harry hears Ron groan beside him as the hat calls out “GRYFFINDOR!”

“Longbottom, Neville” takes even longer than Seamus. When the hat finally shouts “GRYFFINDOR,” he takes off to the table with the Sorting Hat still on his head. The boy has to jog back, blushing in embarrassment amid the laughter in the hall, before handing it to “MacDougal, Morag.”

After Malfoy swaggers forward, the hat barely touches his head when it screams “SLYTHERIN!”

Crabbe and Goyle, who were already sorted earlier, quickly move over to make room for him. There’s a confidence in his eyes that shows he knew exactly where he was going.  
There are very few left after that. "Moon" "Nott" "Parkinson." After which, a pair of “Patil” twins. Then, a “Perks, Sally-Anne.” Finally, …

“Potter-Addams, Harry!”

As he walks up to the stool, whispers flow through the students in the tables in front of him.

"Potter, did she say?"

“The Harry Potter?”

“Who are the Addams family?”

Everyone cranes their heads to try to get a sight of him, with the ghosts floating over the crowd for a better view, as the Sorting Hat is set on his head.

“Hmmm,” a small voice sounds in his ear. “Difficult, very difficult. Courage, plenty of that. And by no means a bad mind. Oh no, plenty of intellect. Cunning, but not ruthlessly so. Fascinating, so much talent and potential. A drive to learn, and better yourself, but no ambition to better your station. Oh, but such loyalty, and kindness. Why, Hufflepuff would be perfect for you. But no, too much Darkness. Not in a bad way, oh no, but still, you wouldn’t fit. However, such chivalry, and a desire to protect your friends and family. Along with that courage. Well, you’d find no better fit than GRYFFINDOR!”

The hat shouts the last word to the audience in the hall. He looks up at his Aunt Minerva as she removes the hat, seeing the pride in her eyes as the thunderous applause and cheering sounds from his new House. Ron’s brother Percy shakes his hand as he reaches the table. He smiles at the Weasley twins as the chant “We got Potter! We got Potter!” Harry sits opposite the ghost in the ruff he saw earlier. As the ghost attempts to pat his arm, he gets the familiar icy-cold feeling of a spirit’s body. It’s as if he’s stuck his arm into a bucket of ice-cold water.

As Harry gets a proper look at the High Table in the front of the Hall, he sees the assortment of staff seated there. At the end nearest him sits Hagrid, who gives the boy a wave and a thumbs up that causes Harry to smile. In the center of the High Table, seated in a large golden chair, is a man that could only be Albus Dumbledore. Harry recognizes him from the Chocolate Frog cards and Aunt Minerva’s descriptions. Silver hair shining just as bright as the ghosts, half-moon spectacles, and a wizened look in his eyes that can be recognized even at this distance.

Another man catches the boy’s eye for some reason. From the descriptions he’s been given, it’s the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Quirell. There’s something particularly off about him. Harry heard that he has quite a bit of anxiety from an incident with some vampires recently, but the boy likes the peculiar purple turban the man sports.

"Thomas, Dean," a black boy even taller than Ron, joins Harry at the Gryffindor table. "Turpin, Lisa," walks over to the Ravenclaw table. Finally, it’s Ron’s turn. Harry sends a comforting smile to the boy, who is already a bit green in the face from nerves. Still, when the hat calls “GRYFFINDOR!” Ron is practically beaming in relief. He plops down next to Harry as applause sounds from the rest of the table.

"Well done, Ron, excellent," Percy Weasley congratulates from across the table, with his head held high.

Harry listens as "Zabini, Blaise," is made a Slytherin. Then, Professor McGonagall rolls up her scroll and takes the Sorting Hat and stool away.

As Harry looks at the empty platters in front of him, he realizes he is a bit hungry. It was a good trek from the Express to the boats, then up to the castle. He, and he bets the other students, worked up an appetite.

Dumbledore rises from his seat, beaming as he spreads his arms open in happiness and welcome.

"Welcome!" he calls. "Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you!”

Applause rings out as the Headmaster takes his seat, mixed with cheering and laughter. Harry himself finds it quite amusing, and shows his appreciation with laughter of his own.  
Not even a few seconds later, Harry blinks, and the most wonderous feast appears on the empty platters in front of him. It smells amazing. Roast beef, roast chicken, pork chops and lamb chops, sausages, bacon and steak, boiled potatoes, roast potatoes, fries, Yorkshire pudding, peas, carrots, gravy, ketchup, and peppermint humbugs. Harry takes a bit of everything, except for the peppermint. Never been much a fan of those.

“That does look good…”

Harry looks up to see the ghost that’s been hanging around the table. He’s staring longingly at the steak.

“I’m sorry,” Harry smiles. “Do you perhaps have a certain place you and the other ghosts frequent? I could leave some of the food there to rot for you, if you’d like.”

The ghost is more than taken aback at the offer. He gives Harry a grateful smile.

“No, but thank you very much for asking young man. I don’t believe I’ve introduced myself, have I? Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington, at your service. Resident ghost of Gryffindor Tower.”

"I know who you are!" Ron gasps suddenly. "My brothers told me about you- you're Nearly Headless Nick!"

Sir Nicholas frowns, stiffening slightly in a bit of annoyance. "I would prefer you to call me Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-"

“Nearly Headless?” Seamus interrupts from his seat nearby. “How can you be nearly headless?”

Sir Nicholas frowns, slightly miffed at the direction the conversation has headed.

"Like this," he sighs irritably. He seizes his left ear and pulls. His whole head swings off his neck and falls onto his shoulder, as if on a hinge. Obviously, someone tried to behead him. Just as obviously, they weren’t the ones that were paid well to make it a clean execution. Nearly Headless Nick admires the stunned and fascinated faces of the surrounding students before flipping his head back onto his neck, giving a slight cough, and continuing on, "So, new Gryffindors! I hope you're going to help us win the house championship this year! Gryffindors have never gone so long without winning. Slytherins have got the cup six years in a row! The Bloody Baron's becoming almost unbearable- he's the Slytherin ghost."

Harry looks over at the Slytherin table and sees a amazingly horrid ghost sitting there, with blank staring eyes, a gaunt face, and robes stained with silver blood. He remembers his mother talking about the Bloody Baron. He really is a gruesome as she described. The ghost seems to be floating next to Malfoy. The light-haired first year doesn’t seem to enjoy this particular development.

"How did he get covered in blood?" Seamus asks his fascination evident on his face.

"I've never asked," Sir Nicholas responds, giving a look that tells the boy that he shouldn’t either.

After everyone has eaten their fill, the leftover food fades from the plates, and a plethora of desserts appears in its place. Blocks of ice cream in every flavor you could think of, apple pies, treacle tarts, chocolate eclairs and jam doughnuts, trifle, strawberries, Jell-O, rice pudding.

The talk around the first years turns to everyone’s families.

"I'm half-and-half," Seamus smiles wide. "Me dad's a Muggle. Mom didn't tell him she was a witch 'til after they were married. Bit of a nasty shock for him."

Everyone else laughs.

“What about you, Neville?” Ron turns to the other boy.

"Well, my gran brought me up and she's a witch," he starts. “But the family thought I was all-Muggle for ages. My Great Uncle Algie kept trying to catch me off my guard and force some magic out of me- he pushed me off the end of Blackpool pier once, I nearly drowned- but nothing happened until I was eight. Great Uncle Algie came round for dinner, and he was hanging me out of an upstairs window by the ankles when my Great Auntie Enid offered him a meringue and he accidentally let go. But I bounced- all the way down the garden and into the road. They were all really pleased, Gran was crying, she was so happy. And you should have seen their faces when I got in here- they thought I might not be magic enough to come, you see. Great Uncle Algie was so pleased he bought me my toad.”

On Harry's other side, Percy Weasley and Hermione were talking about lessons. The boy is also looking forward to them, but he’s not sure if he can match the young witch’s enthusiasm. At least not to the same degree. It’s quite a grand thirst for knowledge in her.

The delicious and filling food begins to affect Harry, as he starts to feel a bit tired. He looks up at the High Table, seeing Hagrid taking a large gulp of his goblet. Aunt Minerva is speaking with the Headmaster, while Professor Quirrell is talking with another man with greasy black hair, a hooked nose, and pale sallow skin. A perfect description of Hogwarts’ current Potion Master, Severus Snape.

It’s quite sudden, but Professor Snape looks over at Harry, meeting the boy’s eye for a moment. It’s at that time that the scar on his forehead begins to feel as if it’s splitting open.

“My word!” He grips his head.

“What is it?” Percy frowns, concern on his face.

“Nothing,” Harry smiles at the Prefect. “Just a slight headache is all.”

“Well,” the older boy lightly pats his shoulder. “Let me know if it gets worse. We can take you to nurse’s office.”

“Thank you, Percy.”

Snape doesn’t look back in his direction the rest of the meal. Finally, the desserts disappear, and Professor Dumbledore rises to his feet yet again. It shows how much respect they all have towards the man as the entire hall falls silent without even a word from him.

"Ahem- just a few more words now that we are all fed and watered. I have a few start-of-term notices to give you. First years should note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. And a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well." Dumbledore's twinkling eyes flash in the direction of the Weasley twins. "I have also been asked by Mr. Filch, the caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors. Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of the term. Anyone interested in playing for their house teams should contact Madam Hooch. And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death."

There’re a few smatterings of laughter amongst the students in the hall. Harry included. Of course, most of the others fade when they realize that the Headmaster is serious.

"And now, before we go to bed, let us sing the school song!" Dumbledore smiles. Harry doesn’t really understand why, but the other teachers’ smiles seem to become a bit forced at that announcement.

Dumbledore gives his wand a deft flick that looks casual, but Harry can see the precision and practice in it. A ribbon floats out the end coiling and twisting into lines of lyrics.  
"Everyone, pick their favorite tune," Dumbledore directs. "And off we go!"

And the school begins:

"Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hoggy Warty Hogwarts,

Teach us something please,

Whether we be old and bald

Or young with scabby knees,

Our heads could do with filling

With some interesting stuff,

For now they're bare and full of air,

Dead flies and bits of fluff,

So teach us things worth knowing,

Bring back what we've forgot,

Just do your best, we'll do the rest,

And learn until our brains all rot."

Each group of students finishes at different times. Harry is delighted by the Weasley Twins, and their tune of a slow funeral march. They are the last to finish and he joins Dumbledore in applauding loudly to the two pranksters.

"Ah, music," the Headmaster wipes his eyes. "A magic beyond all we do here! And now, bedtime. Off you trot!"

With that dismissal, the Gryffindor first years are led by Percy through the chattering crowds, out of the Great Hall, and up the marble staircase. The portraits in the hallways whisper and point as they pass. He only has a few moving portraits in his home, mostly of Mother’s family. Seeing so many in one place is quite a sight. Percy leads them through doorways hidden behind sliding panels, hanging tapestries, and various hallways that Harry is definitely going to enjoy learning as he follows his Prefect. It’s around the time they turn another corner that Percy brings their procession to a halt. In front of them is a collection of walking sticks, floating in the air.

“Peeves,” Percy whispers to the younger kids. “A poltergeist.” He raises his voice. “Peeves! Show yourself!”

A loud noise, similar to air leaving a balloon, answers the Prefect.

“Do you want me to go to the Bloody Baron?” He threatens.

With a pop, the walking sticks are no longer floating. Instead, they’re being carried by a levitating man with dark eyes and a wicked smile.

“Oooooooh!” Peeves laughs. “Ickle Firsties! What fun!”

He swoops down at them, causing everyone to duck, and a few to shout in surprise.

"Go away, Peeves, or the Baron'll hear about this, I mean it!" Percy barks out, although Harry can detect the slightest bit of panic in his voice.

Peeves sticks his tongue out at the assembled group, disappearing and leaving the walking sticks to drop onto Neville’s head. They hear him as he leaves, with the rattling of armor indicating his path.

"You want to watch out for Peeves," Percy informs them as they set off again. "The Bloody Baron's the only one who can control him, he won't even listen to us prefects. Here we are."

At the end of the corridor hangs a portrait. On it is a large woman in a bright pink silk dress. She looks at the assembled students, nose upturned.

“Password?” She asks.

“Caput Draconis,” Percy answers.

With a nod from the woman, the portrait swings open, revealing a round hole in the wall. Everyone starts to pile in, while Seamus and Harry help Neville over the edge. Inside is a warm and comfortable common room. Armchairs are situated around the hearth. The color scheme is a mix of deep red and hints of gold. A nice, homely place.  
Percy directs the girls to one of the doors in the round room, before leading the boys to another. Through the boy’s door is a spiral staircase. From that, and the view out the windows leading up it, it’s obvious that they are inside of one of the Towers. When they finally find their beds, the first years see that their trunks had already been brought up. After the exciting day they’ve all had, none of them are really up for talking. Each of them simply gets dressed in their night clothes and plop onto the soft beds.

“Great food, isn’t it?” Ron mutters through his own curtains. “Get off, Scabbers! He’s chewing my sheets!”

Harry lets out a slight chuckle at his friend and the rat. He’s asleep as soon as he hits the pillow.

He’s dreaming that he’s wearing Professor Quirrell’s turban. A voice coming from it continues to talk to him. Telling him that he must transfer to Slytherin at once. Saying that it is his destiny. As Harry attempts to remove the turban, it tightens painfully, squeezing his head. There’s laughter as the turban continues to tighten. Then, there’s a burst of green light, and Harry’s awake, breathing heavily.

The turban was fascinating, but Harry already knows what the green light was from. It’s quite interesting, he hasn’t dreamed about his parents’ deaths in quite some time. Perhaps being at Hogwarts, and in their House no less, is bringing the memories back while he’s asleep. Either way, it’s still dark out, and it’s a big day in the morning. He’d best get back to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone else laugh at the song? It's so weird. Suits Hogwarts perfectly.
> 
> Anyways, thanks for reading. If you have any questions about my decisions on the changes from the book, feel free to ask. If you enjoyed it, feel free to comment. I'll try to get the next chapter up as soon as I can. It probably won't be too soon, this is pretty exhausting, but I'll get there eventually.
> 
> Comments and Kudos. Don't be mean.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Potion Master

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just going to nip it in the bud right here. I do not hate Snape. I have a few issues with him as a person, but he's a pretty good character all in all.
> 
> Enjoy the chapter.

Chapter 4

“There, look.”

“Where?”

"Next to the tall kid with the red hair."

"Wearing the glasses?"

"Did you see his face?"

"Did you see his scar?"

The whispers have been constant since Harry left his dormitory this morning. People lining up at the classrooms would stand on their toes and crane their necks to get a look at him. Students would double-back through hallways just to stare. Even for him, it’s can be a bit exhausting. It is, however, useful when you are trying to find your classes.

There are a hundred and forty-two staircases at Hogwarts: wide, sweeping ones; narrow, rickety ones; some that lead somewhere different on a Friday; some with a vanishing step halfway up that you have to remember to jump. Then, there are doors that won’t open unless you ask politely, or tickle them in exactly the right place. As well as, doors that aren't really doors at all, but solid walls just pretending. It’s also very hard to remember where anything is, because it all seems to move around a lot. The castle itself seems to be alive, moving and shifting along with its living and nonliving residents. It’s a wonderfully peculiar, but also quite confusing.

Luckily, many of Harry’s fellow students seemed more than happy to assist him in finding his classes. Hufflepuffs teach him which portraits and ghosts know their way around the castle, as well as which seem to forget that normal witches and wizards can’t move through paintings and walls. The Ravenclaws pull out lists of the patterns, schedules, and tendencies of the various doors and staircases. The Gryffindors give them directions and teach them how to avoid Peeves the Poltergeist and Filch the Caretaker. Apparently, him and his cat, Ms. Norris, have been the cause of many different frustrations amongst many of the more troublemaking students. Harry would very much like to fool around with the spirit of mischief, and maybe explore the castle a bit more, but it’s incredibly disrespectful to be late to his classes. He’ll have to do it on a later day.

Then, of course, there were the classes themselves. They would study the night sky in Astronomy every Wednesday, noting down the movement of the planets and stars. Harry himself has learned most of the names of the various constellations and planets, as well as their locations in the night sky, but their teacher is quite fascinating to listen to when she gets passionate about the subject.

Three times a week, they would go out to the greenhouses with for Herbology with the stout Head of Hufflepuff, Professor Sprout. Harry’s stepmother has a greenhouse of her own, but many of the plants and fungi that he’s worked with are only studied in the higher classes. They are apparently too dangerous for first years. So, Harry is actually learning quite a bit about some of the more passive and common plants in the Wizarding World.

History of Magic was interesting, if not just a bit dull. Professor Binns happens to be a ghost, which is quite amazing. He is obviously an expert on the subject, but Harry can tell that many of the other students are struggling to keep up with the professor not needing to take breaks while lecturing. He would be struggling too, but like Ms. Granger who shares the class, he had already studied this particular subject to a certain degree.

Professor Flitwick, the small Charms teacher, has to stand on a pile of books in order to see over his desk. He very nearly toppled off his books when he reached Harry’s name during role call, but the surprising part is when he saw the second part of his last name. Professor Flitwick seems to be a retired wizard duelist, and has had more than one duel against a couple of Harry’s aunts and uncles. There were a great many praises towards his relatives, which the boy greatly appreciated.

It was a very nice sight to see Aunt Minerva as he walks into the Transfiguration classroom. Even then, she keeps her normal strict and impassive face that she’s had whenever she taught him about her subject while visiting. Even when he was only eight, she stressed the importance of restraint when practicing magic, despite it only ever being theoretical at the time.

"Transfiguration is some of the most complex and dangerous magic you will learn at Hogwarts," she warns as soon as class begins. "Anyone messing around in my class will leave and not come back. You have been warned."

Then, she turned her desk into a pig and back again. It caused quite a stir of excitement amongst the class, but they soon learned that they wouldn’t be turning furniture into animals for a few years yet. After taking many different notes of varying complexity, they are each given a match to attempt transfiguring into a needle. By the end of the class, only Hermione and Harry had managed to do anything to the match by changing it to a silvery color and making one of the ends pointed. Harry himself was even more impressed with Hermione. He changed the wooden part, while she managed to change the striking end, which was significantly larger and rounder. Professor McGonagall gave both of them a soft and encouraging smile at their progress.

Harry and the rest of the first years were all equally excited for Defense Against the Dark Arts, but Professor Quirrell turned out to not be the best teacher. Harry for one enjoyed the smell of garlic all over the room. The teacher seemed to be afraid of a vampire he’d had a run in with in Romania that might hunt him down for revenge. He was a bit disappointed in the turban, though. The professor claimed it was a gift from an African prince for ridding the royalty of a pesky zombie. Harry, and the rest of the class, were interested in hearing about that story, but when Seamus Finnegan broached the subject, the man would turn into a stuttering mess and attempt to change the subject. One more thing that most of them noticed was that there was another smell hanging off of the turban itself. Fred and George Weasley seem to believe that he has garlic stuffed in there, to enable him to be protected whether he is in the classroom or not. Harry, however, is more than familiar with the smell of necrosis, and is curious about why it is coming from there. Did the vampire injure Professor Quirrell greater than he is telling? Perhaps the turban is merely there to cover up the injury, or hold the medicinal bandages in place. Either way, the man is a professional and is surely treating the injury with the utmost care, and he obviously doesn’t want to concern the students with his injury. Harry will respect that professionalism.

It’s Friday, and they’d finally been lucky enough to make it to breakfast in a timely manner.

“We have Potions today, do we not?” Harry confirms with Ron.

“Double Potions,” Ron confirms. Then, a little more depressed. “With the Slytherins. Snape’s the Head of Slytherin House. Everyone says he always favors them.”

“Well,” Harry smiles, nonetheless. “We’ll at least see if those rumors are true. I’m actually looking forward to learning from him. He’s apparently very accomplished in his field.”

Harry hears the fluttering of wings as the owls bring the mail. He’s gotten a letter from his family every day since he’s arrived from their family owl, and he’s sent his response after he prepares it in the evening from his own companion. Hedwig enjoys the exercise, and she usually just stays with Harry in the Great Hall until he has to leave for classes.  
Today, however, there’s something different. Along with his usual letter from home, there’s a small note. He tears open the envelope in curiosity.

Dear Harry,

I know you get Friday afternoons off, so would you like to come and have a cup of tea with me around three?

I want to hear all about your first week. Send us an answer back with Hedwig.

Hagrid

Harry quickly replies with a confirmation, sending Hedwig on her way with a brush of her feathers.

Harry had struck up a fairly quick friendship with the boisterous groundskeeper. They would run into each other in between classes, especially when he’s going out to Herbology and before and after meals. The big man is so full of joy and life, and is a great person to talk with. They hadn’t actually had much time to have a long conversation, but he’d love to meet up with the man over tea.

After they finish breakfast, the two boys quickly make there way down to the dungeons, where Potions class is held. They enter the classroom to see a familiar trio standing around, loitering.

“Draco,” Harry smiles. “Crabbe, Goyle. Pleasure to see you again. How have classes been?”

Draco Malfoy, for his part, is caught off guard by the greeting. His two cronies that have taken up their posts over his shoulders look like they don’t even know how to process a Gryffindor being courteous to them. Harry just smirks as he and Ron walk past. In this past week, Harry has come to understand that the young Slytherin may not wish to be friends at this time. His various sneers, jeers, and mutterings that have been caught while walking through the halls and eating in the Great Hall have been a good indication of that. Harry, however, has been taught by his parents to treat everyone, especially your enemies, with respect. One up them at every turn, while being polite in the process. Rivalries deserve that sort of sportsmanship and competitive spirit.

Harry and Ron find an empty desk to sit together at, pulling out their necessary books and supplies and waiting for class to begin. While doing so, Harry marvels at the room that they are learning in. The slight chill of being below ground, combined with the pickled and jarred animals lined around the room. It reminds him of the potion room he would learn in when he and his siblings were being taught by Mother and Grandmama.

Just as class is set to begin, the door to the room slams open, and Professor Snape glides in. He does a quick scan of the room, and seeing everyone seated, pulls out the parchment for role. Just like Flitwick, when he reaches Harry’s name, he pauses.

"Ah, Yes," he fixes the boy with an unimpressed look. "Harry Potter. Our new- celebrity."

Draco and his friends snigger in the behind their hands in the back of the classroom. As he finishes taking attendance, he takes another sweeping gaze around the room. His eyes are dark, like Hagrid’s, but with none of the warmth and happiness that the larger man holds. No, it’s more a cold stare.

"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potionmaking," he begins, speaking in barely more than a whisper, but loud enough for everyone to hear in the quiet room. His presence demands silence with an authority similar to that of Professor McGonagall. "As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses.... I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death- if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."

There is a long pause after his speech to allow it to sink in. Harry, for one, is looking forward to learning from a man that holds such passion for the art of brewing potions. Based on the man’s attitude, it will not be easy, but there should be a wealth of knowledge to draw upon.

"Potter!" Snape suddenly focuses on the boy. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

“The Draught of Living Death,” Harry replies from memory. “It’s a powerful sleeping potion that leaves the drinker in a state of deep hibernation.”

The teacher squints, and Harry can see a fair amount of frustration on the man’s face.

“Where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?”

“Either in your ingredients closet or with Madame Pomphrey. Its antidotal properties help to save people from most poisons. Of course, if you wish for a fresh bezoar, you would look in the stomach of a goat. Its use tends to degrade if not properly preserved by magical means, but it is quite inconvenient to catch the animal and dig it out if someone is suffering from a poison nearby.”

Now, the teacher is all but glaring in annoyance at him. Harry, not one to back down from a battle of wits, and never one to disregard or degrade his own knowledge, is more than happy to play the man’s little game.

“What, Potter,” Snape hisses. “Is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?”

“That is a trick question, professor. Although most medical professionals tend to call it aconite, they are all names given to the same plant.”

He thinks he can see a vein bulging, but Professor Snape doesn’t seem to have any more questions for him.

“Seems as if you were competent enough to pick up a book before class, Potter.” Snape turns to the rest of the students. “Well? Why aren’t you all copying this down?” There’s a rustle of quills and parchment as everyone begins taking notes. “And a point will be taken from Gryffindor House for your cheek, Potter.”

Harry doesn’t believe that is fair, but at least with this, there isn’t much he can do about it. Anything said would just cause more points to be lost.

There wasn’t much improvement in Snape’s mood during the rest of the lesson. Each of them was paired up to brew a simple potion for curing boils. Snape stalked around the room, criticizing every single student except for Draco, who seemed to have somehow garnered the teacher’s favor. During the entire class, the professor would boast about how everyone should use the young light-haired Slytherin as the example for how to make their potions. Harry and Ron’s potion turns out perfectly, and Harry even attempts to assist Neville and Seamus in the desk next to him.

“Mind your own cauldron, Potter!” Professor Snape snaps. “One more point from Gryffindor!”

The other pair still manages to brew a passing potion as the class ends.

“Snape’s always taking off points for Fred and George,” Ron tries to comfort Harry, even though it is unneeded. “Can I come and meet Hagrid with you?”

***

At five to three, the pair leaves the castle to make their way across the grounds. Hagrid lives in a small wooden hut on the edge of the Forbidden Forest. As they approach, they see a large crossbow, that would be impossible for Wednesday to pull back without help, and a pair of galoshes by the door.

As he knocks at the door, a frantic scrabbling and booming bark sound from inside of the small house.

“Back, Fang!” Hagrid’s voice bellows over the barking. “Back!”

Hagrid's big, hairy face appears in the crack as he pulls the door open.

"Hang on," he tells them. "Back, Fang."

He lets them in while struggling to hold a large black boarhound by the collar.

There’s only one room in the house. Pheasants and ham hang overhead, while a copper kettle boils on the open fire. In the corner stands a bed large enough to fit the man’s massive frame, with an equally large patchwork quilt laying over it.

“Make yerselves at home,” he welcomes them into the home.

He lets go of Fangs collar, and the dog bounds up to Ron and starts licking the boy’s ears. Harry gives the beast a quick scratch on its head before taking a seat at an old and rickety table in the center of the room.

“This is Ron,” Harry introduces. “I hope you don’t mind me inviting him.”

“Nonsense,” Hagrid responds, while pouring the boiling water into a teapot on the table. He then starts setting out some small, for his hands at least, cakes onto a plate. “The more the merrier.” He looks over at the red-haired boy. "Another Weasley, eh? I spent half me life chasin' yer twin brothers away from the forest."

The cakes themselves are shapeless lumps with raisins that can chip a tooth. They’re at least edible if you dip them in the tea to soften them, but they are also quite tasteless when you finally manage to chew them. The two boys politely eat one each before just sipping on the tea to wet their dry mouths. All the while, Harry just absentmindedly scratches Fang while he drools on the student’s robes.

The two of them are amused at Hagrid’s take on the various staff in the castle. Ron especially likes it when Hagrid calls Filch “that old git.”

"An' as fer that cat, Mrs. Norris, I'd like ter introduce her to Fang sometime. D'yeh know, every time I go up ter the school, she follows me everywhere? Can't get rid of her- Filch puts her up to it."

Harry then goes into the lesson they’d had with Snape earlier. Hagrid assures, just like how Ron did, that Snape hardly likes anyone.

“But he singled me out, specifically,” Harry reasons. “Trying to trip me up with questions on potions and ingredients that only appear in textbooks in the higher years. Scolding me for assisting a student, while Hermione was just a few desks away attempting to do the same. I would at least like to know why he holds such a grudge against me.”

“Rubbish!” Hagrid denies. “He’s just a bit sour because Quirrell got the Defense Against the Dark Arts position. Everyone knows that he’s been eyeing it since he got here.”

That makes sense, but Harry can’t help but think that Hagrid avoids meeting his eyes after saying that. Especially with the sudden change in subject that comes after.

“How’s yer brother Charlie?” He asks Ron. “I liked him a lot- great with animals.”

Harry just accepts the change for what it is. He’s not sure if knowing the source of Snape’s antagonism would help solve it, and it’s obvious Hagrid doesn’t wish to speak about it. As he’s looking around the room, he spots a newspaper clipping underneath the tea cozy.

GRINGOTTS BREAK-IN LATEST

Investigations continue into the break-in at Gringotts on 31 July, widely believed to be the work of Dark wizards or witches unknown.

Gringotts goblins today insisted that nothing had been taken. The vault that was searched had in fact been emptied the same day.

"But we're not telling you what was in there, so keep your noses out if you know what's good for you," said a Gringotts spokesgoblin this afternoon.

“Huh,” Harry frowns, interested in the paper. “That’s fascinating. This robbery happened on my birthday.”

He notices that Hagrid proceeds to avoid his gaze again. Along with specifically looking anywhere but at the table where the clipping is. Not much of a poker face on the large man, is there?

They leave with a rock cakes in each of their pockets, being too polite to refuse. Harry is interested about Hagrid’s involvement in the incident at Gringotts, but he’s more curious about what Hagrid could know about Snape, and what it has to do with the grudge he seems to hold towards Harry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Harry isn't ashamed or embarrassed about his name or his fame. Because of this, he's not as reserved when it comes to approaching other people as he might've been. There are also probably plenty of upperclassmen who would help out the "Boy-Who-Lived." Whether it's for their own personal benefit of making connections, or it they're just nice people, it would depend on the person.
> 
> If you think Harry Potter-Addams would not have a greater knowledge than most wizards about magic, especially if it's a specialty of Morticia's or his "Aunt Minerva," you haven't put very much thought into it.
> 
> Whether you like him or not, everyone should admit that Snape's grudge towards Harry is frustratingly childish. If it's because of his father, it's just taking your spite out on your high school bully's eleven-year-old orphaned kid, which is unfounded. If it's to keep his cover as a supporter of the Dark Lord, there really isn't any need to go that far, and taking his anger out on all the other Houses except Slytherin is a bit petty. You can favor Slytherins without degrading and threatening everyone else. You can probably guess my basic views on the man, but I'm going to try to keep as unbiased as possible throughout the story. So, don't hate.
> 
> The Gringotts bank won't have as much of an impact on him because he wasn't with Hagrid when the Stone was picked up. He suspects Hagrid might be involved, because Hagrid sucks at keeping secrets, but he won't think too much on it.
> 
> Comments and Kudos. Don't be mean.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Divebombs, dueling, and other dangerously fun activities.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for your comments on the last chapter.

Chapter 5

Honestly, Draco is becoming quite an irritant, and it’s absolutely wonderful. The back and forth banter in the hallways. The sneers and jeers from the boy and his two burly guards. The attempt to one up each other in class. Of course, they only share Potions, so it is difficult to stay ahead in that, considering the teacher.

Many of the first year Gryffindors are buzzing with excitement. They are scheduled to have flying lessons today. Even them sharing those lessons with the Slytherins isn’t enough to put a damper on the day. Even Malfoy’s constant gloating about his flying skills don’t seem to faze anyone.

Seamus spent the morning talking about how he would race around the countryside on his own broom, while Ron laughed along with everyone else as he told about how he almost hit a hang glider while riding his brother Charlie’s old broom.

“I’ve had to dodge a decent number of explosives from my brother,” Harry shares his own story. “He’s getting into them quite a bit. And my sister has aimed a few crossbows and cannons my way when she’s not floating around on a broom herself.”

That leaves the entire table gaping, but they’ve all gotten used to Harry’s nutty family, to some degree.

Everyone who’s a part of a wizarding family has something to say about Quidditch. Dean Thomas and Ron got into their own little argument about soccer. Ron couldn’t understand the excitement of a sport with a single ball and no flying.

Hermione and Neville are both nervous about the lessons. Neville has never been allowed near a broom before. The rest of the table can understand that. He isn’t the most coordinated of people. Hermione, for her part, is scared because it’s the only thing she can’t learn by reading. Not for lack of trying. She’s checked out every book on flying and Quidditch that she can, sharing any and all tips and advice she can to the assembled group. Neville seems to be hanging onto her every word. She’s interrupted when the mail comes.

Harry receives his usual letter from the family. He looks over at the Slytherin table to see Draco with his usual delivery of sweets from home. What’s interesting is when Neville’s barn owl sets a small package in front of him from his grandmother. He opens it excitedly, revealing a glass ball the size of a large marble. Inside of it, white smoke swirls.

"It's a Remembrall!" He exclaims. "Gran knows I forget things- this tells you if there's something you've forgotten to do. Look, you hold it tight like this and if it turns red if- oh..." His face falls, because the Remembrall had suddenly glowed scarlet. "You've forgotten something..."

Neville’s features turn thoughtful, as he tries to remember what he’s forgotten. It’s then that Draco Malfoy, who has come by the Gryffindor table for some reason, snatches the Remembrall out of the boy’s hand.

Ron jumps to his feet, while Harry rises a bit slower, keeping a hand on Ron’s shoulder to hold him back. A good scrap is all well and good, but not recklessly so.

Professor McGonagall seems to be able to sense trouble, because she’s there before anything else can happen.

“What’s going on?”

“Malfoy’s got my Remembrall.”

“Just looking,” the Slytherin drops the marble back on the table before stalking away with Crabbe and Goyle.

***

The first year Gryffindors hurry out of the castle for their first flying lesson. Harry looks up at the sky. Clear blue, with a slight breeze that ripples along the grassy field in front of them. In the distance, the trees of the Forbidden Forest sway with the wind.

“A bit sunny,” Harry remarks. “But, other than that, perfect weather for flying.”

The Slytherins are already loitering around the grounds, while twenty broomsticks lie on the grass in neat rows nearby. Harry had heard from Fred and George that the school brooms were a bit finicky, but they shouldn’t be doing anything too complicated on their first lessons.

Madame Hooch, the flying teacher, is a short haired older woman with yellow eyes that remind Harry of a hawk.

“Well,” she barks. “What are you waiting for? Everyone stand by a broomstick. Come on, hurry up.”

Harry broom is a bit old, with some of the twigs sticking out in odd angles, but it looks well kept and taken care of.

“Stick you right hand over your broom,” Madame Hooch calls from her place up front. “And say ‘Up!’”

“UP!”

Harry’s broom leaps into his hand, causing the boy to smile. Next to him, Ron’s own broom is now in his hand. The boy’s share a grin. Draco is in a similar situation, preening under the eyes of the rest of the Slytherins. Hemione, on the other hand, has only gotten her broomstick to roll on the ground a bit. Neville’s hasn’t even moved.

Madame Hooch then shows each of them how to mount the brooms without sliding off the other end. Harry and Ron are a bit amused when Malfoy gives a slight argument when he’s told he’s been flying wrong for years.

"Now, when I blow my whistle, you kick off from the ground, hard," Madam Hooch readies said whistle. "Keep your brooms steady, rise a few feet, and then come straight back down by leaning forward slightly. On my whistle- three- two-"

She hadn’t blown the whistle yet, but Neville, with his nerves shot, pushes off early.

“Come back, boy!” Madame Hooch urges.

But Neville continues to rise higher and higher, and it isn’t helping his nervousness. As he hits roughly twenty feet high, he looks down. You can see the fear in his eyes as the color drains from his face. His grip loosens, and he slips off the broom.

A loud thud and nasty crack sounds through the grounds as the boy lands in a heap on the grass. His broomstick just continues to rise until it drifts off towards the Forbidden Forest and out of sight.

Madame Hooch bends over Neville, eyes full of concern and face as pale as his.

“Broken wrist,” she mutters. “Come on, boy- it’s alright, up you get.”

After helping Neville to his feet. She turns to the rest of the class.

"None of you is to move while I take this boy to the hospital wing! You leave those brooms where they are or you'll be out of Hogwarts before you can say 'Quidditch.' Come on, dear."

She escorts the injured boy back into the castle, while he clutches his wrist, face stained with tears.

As soon as they leave earshot, Malfoy bursts into laughter.

"Did you see his face, the great lump?"

The other Slytherins join in.

"Shut up, Malfoy," snaps Parvati Patil.

"Ooh, sticking up for Longbottom?" Pansy Parkinson, a hard-faced Slytherin girl, sneers. "Never thought you'd like fat little crybabies, Parvati."

“It’s quite rude to laugh at another’s injuries, isn’t it Draco?” Harry steps in to the conversation.

But Malfoy isn’t listening, instead he dashes forward and snatches something out of the grass.

“Look!” He holds up a familiar round object. “It’s that stupid thing Longbottom’s gran sent him.”

“Perfect!” Harry steps forward, holding out his hand. “We can return it to him when we see him later today!”

Harry holds out his hand for the item. He’d expected this, but it’s still disappointing when Draco just tosses it to his other hand, farther away from Harry. 

“No, I think I’ll leave it somewhere for Longbottom to find- how about- up a tree?”

“There’s no need for that,” Harry keeps his tone civil, holding out his hand again. “Come now, give it here.”

Instead, Malfoy hops onto his broom and glides up into the air. “Come and get it, Potter!”

Harry sighs, before taking a few steps over and picking up his broom.

"No!" Hermione Granger shouts. "Madam Hooch told us not to move- you'll get us all into trouble."

“Probably just me,” he smiles at her. “And Draco. Even then, it just means I’ll have to get back down before she comes back.”

He points his broom directly at Malfoy, before kicking off hard and shooting directly at him. The Slytherin barely manages to veer out of the way. According to Mother, Harry was always a natural flyer, and he’s needed to be able to get into the air quickly or else he’d be shot down form the get-go. He turns to face a gaping Malfoy.

“Hand the Remembrall over, Draco. It really is pointless to go any further.”

“Oh, yeah?” The other flyer tries to sneer, but there’s obviously a small bit of worry behind his eyes.

As Harry charges forward again, he realizes that the Weasley twins were partially right. These brooms aren’t the greatest, and you won’t be able to pull off anything too fancy with them, but they’ll take you direct them. Once again, Draco barely dodges, wobbling slightly in the air. They face each other again.

“It’s always good to have help,” Harry continues his conversation. “But you shouldn’t rely on Crabbe and Goyle to fight your battles all the time.”

The person across from Harry seems to notice this.

“Catch it if you can, then!” Malfoy shouts, tossing the Remembrall into the air before he flies back to the ground.

Time seems to slow down for Harry, as the orb rises into the air, then begins to fall to the ground. One second, he’s leaning forward, pointing his broom handle down. The next second, he’s gathering speed in a steep dive, racing the sphere- wind whistled in his ears, mingled with the screams of people watching- he stretches out his hand- a foot from the ground he catches it, just in time to pull his broom straight. As he does so, he topples gently onto the grass with the Remembrall clutched safely in his fist.

“HARRY POTTER-ADDAMS!”

He looks up from his place on the grass, and smiles.

“Professor McGonagall, I suppose you saw that?”

"Never- in all my time at Hogwarts-" Professor McGonagall is almost speechless in shock, and her glasses flashing furiously, "-how dare you- might have broken your neck-"

He grins in response to that, tossing the Remembrall up in the air, before catching it.

“Apologies, Professor, but I couldn’t let this break, could I? Neville would’ve been awfully upset.”

McGonagall takes the item from his hand, glaring at the offending object, inspecting it carefully, before looking back at Harry.

"It wasn't his fault, Professor-"

"Be quiet, Miss Patil.”

"But Malfoy-"

"That's enough, Mr. Weasley. Harry, follow me, now."

He sees Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle as he leaves. He’s confused about the triumphant looks on their faces. If he were to be in trouble, Draco would face the same consequences. Aunt Minerva has always been fair in her punishments, and that fact hasn’t seemed to change in Harry’s short time here at Hogwarts. Curious, the young Potter-Addams continues to follow the quick pace of his head of house, jogging to keep up.

They continue into the castle, up stairs and through various hallways and corridors, until they stop outside of a classroom. She opens the door, poking her head inside.

"Excuse me, Professor Flitwick, could I borrow Wood for a moment?”

Wood? Harry thinks to himself. Why does that sound familiar?

Wood turns out to be a burly fifth-year. He looks between McGonagall and Harry as his face shows obvious confusion.

"Follow me, you two," Professor McGonagall motion, and they marched on up the corridor.

Wood gives Harry a questioning look, and Harry returns with a shrug, indicating he’s just as in the dark as the fifth year.

“In here.”

The two students follow the professor into an empty classroom. Empty, that is, except for a certain Peeves the Poltergeist scribbling rude words on the blackboard.

“Out Peeves!”

It seems like the Bloody Baron isn’t the only one Peeves is afraid of, because he throws the chalk in the bin before flying out of there, cursing the entire way. After which, Professor McGonagall slams the door behind them and turns to face the two boys.

"Potter, this is Oliver Wood. Wood -- I've found you a Seeker."

With that, Harry’s eyes widen in realization.

“Right, you’re the captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team.” He holds out his hand. “Pleasure to meet you.”

Oliver takes the hand, smiling politely. Then, he turns to give the professor a frown.

"Are you serious, Professor?"

“Absolutely,” the professor nods crisply. She looks at Harry. “I knew you’d been practicing from Morticia’s letters, but I’ve never seen anything like what you just did from someone so young.”

“Thank you, Aunt Minerva,” Harry beams at her.

She gives a fond smile at him, before she turns back to the Quidditch Captain, all business.

She holds out the Remembrall to Oliver. “He caught this in his hands after a fifty-foot dive. Didn’t even scratch himself. Charlie Weasley couldn’t have done it.”

Oliver Wood’s face grows into a smile. His eyes shine bright as he takes in the boy in front of him.

“Ever seen a game of Quidditch before, Potter?”

“No,” Harry smiles. “But I know the rules, and I was planning on trying out for the team when it was time.”

“That’s perfect,” Wood puts both of his hands onto Harry’s shoulders while looking him up and down. "You’re just the build for a Seeker. Light- speedy- we'll have to get him a decent broom, Professor -- a Nimbus Two Thousand or a Cleansweep Seven, I'd say."

“I’ll send an owl to Morticia,” McGonagall smiles at the young boy. “She’ll have the Nimbus I gave you for your birthday sent up. I was expecting you to bring it next year, but I hadn’t thought you’d be this gifted. I’ll have to speak to Dumbledore about bending the rules on first years having a broom, but we need a better team than last year. Flattened in that last match by Slytherin, I couldn't look Severus Snape in the face for weeks...” She peers over her glasses at Harry. “I know you’ll work hard, but I should hope I’ll see results from you.” Then she smiles. “Oh, your father would be so proud. James was an excellent Quidditch player himself, and Gomez will be positively elated.”

***

“You’re joking?”

“Not at all,” Harry smiles at his best friend. “I start practice next week, but Oliver wants to keep it a secret. Surprise the other teams.”

“You must be the youngest house player of the century. And Seeker? Wow. That’s brilliant.”

“Yes, it’s quite an honor. I’m looking forward to our first match.”

The pair are currently sitting at dinner in the Great Hall. Ron’s food is all but forgotten as he gapes at Harry. Fred and George walk into the hall, they zero in on Harry and jog over. They sit down on either side of the first year, grinning the entire time.

"Well done," George starts in a low voice. "Wood told us. We're on the team too- Beaters."

"I tell you; we're going to win that Quidditch cup for sure this year," Fred continues. "We haven't won since Charlie left, but this year's team is going to be brilliant. You must be good, Harry, Wood was almost skipping when he told us."

"Anyway, we've got to go, Lee Jordan reckons he's found a new secret passageway out of the school."

"Bet it's that one behind the statue of Gregory the Smarmy that we found in our first week. See you."

That has Harry interested. A secret passageway. He’s about to follow the twins, when a different group of students approaches them.

"Having a last meal, Potter? When are you getting the train back to your Muggle father?”

Harry gives the boy a smug smile. “About the same time you will be, I believe. I wasn’t the only one flying. Feeling braver with Crabbe and Goyle by your side, are you?”

Not the best thing to say, Harry will admit, but he’s never been fond of people who insult his family. Wednesday would be proud, to say the least.

"I'd take you on anytime on my own," Malfoy retorts. "Tonight, if you want. Wizard's duel. Wands only -- no contact.”

“Wonderful!” Harry claps his hands. “I love a good duel!” He looks over at Ron. “Would you care to be my second?”

“Sure!” Ron nods, excitedly before going back to glaring at Malfoy.

Harry looks back at his rival. “And who will be yours?”

Draco looks back at his two friends, sizing them up.

“Crabbe,” he decides. “Is Midnight alright? We’ll meet you in the trophy room. That’s always unlocked.”

As the trio of Slytherins leaves, Ron looks over at Harry.

“That was so cool. You’ve dueled before?”

“With sabers,” Harry answers. “Never wands, but I’ve always wanted to.”

“Woah,” the redhead’s eyes widen.

“Excuse me.”

The two boys turn to see a frowning Hermione Granger looking at them.

“Can’t a person eat in peace in this place?” Ron rolls his eyes.

She ignores Ron as she addresses Harry.

"I couldn't help overhearing what you and Malfoy were saying-"

“Bet you could,” Ron mutters.

"-and you mustn't go wandering around the school at night, think of the points you'll lose Gryffindor if you're caught, and you're bound to be. It's really very selfish of you."

“Duels are perfectly within school rules, Ms. Granger,” Harry smiles. “And it’s smart to do so during a time that it won’t interfere with our classes, don’t you think?”

“Yeah,” Ron pipes up. “So, goodbye.”

***

“Half past eleven,” Ron whispers. “We’d better get going.”

The pair creeps down the staircase into the common room. They make it halfway across the room, when a voice sounds from the dark.

“I can’t believe your actually doing this.”

A lamp flickers on, and reveals Hermione, sitting in one of the arm chairs, frowning in disapproval.

“You!” Ron hisses, furious. “Go back to bed!”

“I read the school rules,” she hops out of the seat. “Duels are only allowed when they’re witnessed by the Head of House of all parties involved. And they aren’t allowed after curfew unless you get the Head of House’s prior approval.”

“Well, that certainly is interesting,” Harry grins at her. “But the time has already been set, and we can’t be late. As long as we don’t get caught it should be fine.”

The two boys exit the Gryffindor common room, but Hermione won't give up that easily. She follows Ron through the portrait hole, hissing at them like an angry goose.

"Don't you care about Gryffindor, do you only care about yourselves, I don't want Slytherin to win the house cup, and you'll lose all the points I got from Professor McGonagall for knowing about Switching Spells."

"Go away." Ron shoos her.

"All right, but I warned you, you just remember what I said when you're on the train home tomorrow, you're so-"

But what they were, they’ll never find out. Hermione turned to the portrait of the Fat Lady to get back inside and finds herself facing an empty painting. The Fat Lady had gone on a nighttime visit and Hermione is now locked out of Gryffindor tower.

"Now what am I going to do?" she whines.

"That's your problem," Ron snorts. "We've got to go, we 3 re going to be late."

They hadn't even reached the end of the corridor when Hermione catches up with them.

"I'm coming with you.”

“That’s fine,” Harry smiles invitingly. “The Fat Lady should be back by the time the duel is over, and seeing as we aren’t supposed to be out, you can keep watch while Draco and I fight.”

“Okay,” Hermione frowns. “But if Filch finds all three of us, I'll tell him the truth, that I was trying to stop you, and you can back me up."

“That’s fine,” he agrees. “I am not planning on lying if I’m caught. Just as long as you don’t abandon us if you hear him.”

Ron looks like he’s about to protest, but he’s cut off when the three of them hear a noise down the hall. It’s a sort of snuffling.

"Mrs. Norris?" Ron breathes, trying to peer into the dark.

It’s not Mrs. Norris. It’s Neville. Curled up on the floor, fast asleep, but he jerks suddenly awake as they approach.

"Thank goodness you found me! I've been out here for hours; I couldn't remember the new password to get in to bed."

"Keep your voice down, Neville. The password's 'Pig snout' but it won't help you now, the Fat Lady's gone off somewhere."

“How’s the arm, Neville?” Harry asks.

"Fine," the boy shows them. "Madam Pomfrey mended it in about a minute."

"Wonderful. Well, the Fat Lady should be back sometime soon. You know the password, but we have somewhere we must be, have a restful night.”

"Don't leave me!" Neville scrambles to his feet, "I don't want to stay here alone, the Bloody Baron's been past twice already."

Ron looks at his watch and then glares furiously at Hermione and Neville.

"If either of you get us caught, I'll never rest until I've learned that Curse of the Bogies Quirrell told us about, and used it on you.”

Hermione opens her mouth, perhaps to tell him exactly how that particular curse is used, when she seems to think better of it, and chooses to remain silent.

The flit along the corridors, using the light of the moon from the high windows to show the way. Each and every turn rife with danger. The threat of Filch and Ms. Norris finding them is a bit exciting to Harry. He’s not sure if his companions feel the same, though. They all breath a sigh of relief as they climb up a set of stairs to the trophy room.  
Malfoy and Crabbe had yet to arrive, so Harry takes the time to admire the various trophies and awards. As the moonlight hits some of them just right, they seem to glitter in the most beautiful way. Harry decides to lean against a wall, wand at the ready, in case Draco decides to begin as soon as he comes in.

"He's late, maybe he's chickened out." Ron whispers.

Then, a noise in the next room draws their attention. Harry was expecting it to be Malfoy, but when he hears them speak…

"Sniff around, my sweet, they might be lurking in a corner."

That’s Filch, no doubt speaking to Ms. Norris. Quickly, Harry tells the group to follow him in the opposite direction of the voice. They barely make it out of the room before they hear the Caretaker enter.

"They're in here somewhere," the man mutters. "Probably hiding."

The group continues to hurry down the hallways, passing by suits of armor as the try to lose Filch. They twist and turn through the halls, not worrying about where they’re going. They tear through a hidden passageway behind a tapestry and end up a short way away from their Charms classroom. Everyone relaxes slightly as they realize they are far away from the trophy room.

“I think,” Harry calms his breathing, smiling in excitement. “We’ve lost him. That was invigorating, wasn’t it?”

“I- told- you," Hermione gasps, clutching at the stitch in her chest. "I- told- you."

"We've got to get back to Gryffindor tower," Ron says. "Quickly as possible."

"Malfoy tricked you," Hermione turns to Harry. "You realize that, don't you? He was never going to meet you. Filch knew someone was going to be in the trophy room, Malfoy must have tipped him off."

“Yes, well,” Harry stretches a bit. “Trickery, betrayal, it’s all well and good, but I do think the cowardice of backing out of an agreed upon duel is going a bit too far. Well, come now. Let’s be off then.”

Hermione gapes at Harry, but she doesn’t voice anything as the group walks back to Gryffindor tower. It doesn’t seem like it’s going to be easy, though. Before they even go a dozen paces, a doorknob rattles and something shoots out of the classroom in front of them.

Peeves the Poltergeist spies the four students, giving a squeal of delight.

"Shut up, Peeves,” Ron hisses. “Please. You'll get us thrown out."

Peeves cackles. "Wandering around at midnight, Ickle Firsties? Tut, tut, tut. Naughty, naughty, you'll get caughty."

"Not if you don't give us away, Peeves, please."

"Should tell Filch, I should," says Peeves in a saintly voice, but his eyes glitter wickedly. "It's for your own good, you know."

"Get out of the way," snaps Ron, taking a swipe at Peeves. A big mistake.

"STUDENTS OUT OF BED!" Peeves bellows. "STUDENTS OUT OF BED DOWN THE CHARMS CORRIDOR"

They all duck under Peeves, running to the end of the corridor and trying the door. It’s locked.

"This is it!" Ron moans, as they push helplessly at the door. "We're done for! This is the end!"

They hear footsteps, Filch running as fast as he can toward Peeves's shouts.

"Oh, move over," Hermione snarls. Stomping forward, she grabs Harry's wand out of his hand, taps the lock, and whispers. “Alohomora!"

The lock clicks and the door swings open. They pile through, shutting it behind them, and press their ears to the door.

"Which way did they go, Peeves?" They hear Filch. "Quick, tell me."

"Say 'please."'

"Don't mess with me, Peeves, now where did they go?"

"Shan't say nothing if you don't say please," Peeves responds in his annoying singsong voice.

"All right -please."

"NOTHING! Ha haaa! Told you I wouldn't say nothing if you didn't say please! Haha Haaaaaa!" They hear the sound of Peeves whooshing away and Filch cursing in rage.

“He believes the door is locked,” Harry reasons. He looks over at Hermione. “Excellent job on the Unlocking Charm.” He feels Neville tugging on his sleeve. “Yes, what is it, Neville?”

Harry turns around and freezes, as he sees what’s sharing the room with them. Although, it isn’t necessarily a room. It’s a large corridor. And in that corridor is a large, three-headed dog. All six eyes point in their direction, all three noses sniffing, all three mouths drooling, with sets of giant yellow teeth showing as the lips curl back in a growl.  
He’d love to stay and admire the beast for longer, but the Cerberus doesn’t seem like it is fond of their company. Harry grips onto the door handle and opens it, dragging a petrified Neville out as the other two with him follow behind.

Luckily, they come out to an empty hallway. No Peeves, and no Filch. Harry quickly reapplies the lock on the door. The dog wouldn’t be able to fit through, but it’d be better if no one else went in there. He turns around to catch up to his companions, who have already gotten to the end of the corridor in their haste.

They finally reach the tower, and see that the Fat Lady has returned to the portrait.

“Where have all of you been?” She asks, seeing their panicked and disheveled looks.

“Pig snout,” Ron pants. “Please, pig snout.”

The portrait swings forward and the four of them clamber in. They all collapse into the various armchairs around the room, trembling. It was a while before the shock wears off the rest of them, and they can finally speak.

"What do they think they're doing, keeping a thing like that locked up in a school?" Ron finally breaths out. "If any dog needs exercise, that one does."

Hermione seems to have gotten both her breath and her bad temper back again. "You don't use your eyes, any of you, do you? Didn't you see what it was standing on?”

“I saw that its nails were not well clipped,” Harry tells her. “Not good when they’re walking on a hard surface like stone. I didn’t notice anything else about the floor, though. What did you see?”

“Not the floor. It was standing on a trapdoor. It's obviously guarding something. I hope you're pleased with yourselves. We could all have been killed- or worse, expelled. Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to bed."

She stalks back up to her room, with Ron gaping at her as she leaves.

"You'd think we dragged her along, wouldn't you?”

But Harry was thinking about what she had said. The dog is guarding something. Fascinating. What could it be? Harry would like to find out before the end of the year. Seems like a nice adventure to write home about. But that’s something for another day.

“Let’s just head to bed, Ron.”

“Don’t have to tell me twice.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aunt McGonagall strikes again!
> 
> As soon as she hears that Harry was a good flyer, she'd be sure to buy him a broom.
> 
> He's an Addams, he'd never turn down a duel. He also wouldn't be afraid of breaking the rules, but getting caught would bring consequences to Gryffindor, and he wouldn't want that at all. They're supposed to be like his family at the school.
> 
> I have a dog, and when we had mainly hardwood, she needed to get her nails trimmed regularly to keep from hurting her paws on the hard surface. Not sure if that's the same for all breeds, but it is for all of the ones I've had.
> 
> Also, if anyone has any established tags for either the Addams Family or Harry Potter that they think I should add to the tagline, let me know. I want to be able to get this out to as many people as possible, and I'm not really familiar with the popular tags for either one of these fandoms.
> 
> Comments and Kudos. Don't be mean.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Deliveries and Deadly Clubs

Chapter 6

To say that Malfoy was shocked to see the pair of Gryffindors that next morning would be an understatement. The scheming first year’s eyes are wide as saucers. Harry and Ron, although a bit tired from their late night, are happy at the little adventure they experienced. They’re actually hoping to be able to figure out what the big beast is guarding.

"It's either really valuable or really dangerous," Ron reasons. “Has to be, with something like that guarding it.”

Harry would ask Hermione what she thought on the subject, but her and Neville want nothing to do with the whole thing. Neville seems to want to completely forget about the existence of the dog, while Hermione has refused to speak to the two of them for the past week.

During that time, Harry and Ron have also been trying to figure out how to get back at Draco for his little prank. Revenge is usually more Wednesday’s way of going about things, but Harry still thinks that some comeuppance is well deserved. His letters home has also shown that he has the full support of his family. Mother, Pugsley, and Wednesday have given their wholehearted backing to his endeavors, while Father has said that something must be done about the other boy renegading on a duel.

Harry was about suggest to Ron that they enlist his twin brothers for assistance, when the mail arrives. Harry spots Hedwig, as well as his families pitch black owl and four others, carrying a large, long package together. It’s dropped on the table in front of him, knocking a few pieces of stray food onto the floor in the process. Then, a letter floats down on top of it. He rips open the envelope to see two letters inside.

_Here is your broom, Son. I understand that many members of the wizarding world very much enjoy flying, and that the broom Minerva gave you is very popular. She recommended that you not open the package in public, as it would incite jealousy amongst other first years. It would also be inconvenient for her, so I would also recommend that particular cautionary note. Enjoy your first Quidditch match. Remember to never underestimate your opponent, but if it’s anything like what you do at home, you’ll perform wonderfully._

_With Love,_

_Father_

He then unfolds the second one.

_Nothing would upset that Malfoy boy more than seeing you do well on the Quidditch pitch on a Nimbus Two-Thousand, Brother, but I also believe that there is more than one type of poison that could do the trick, and sabotaging him during classes would do as well. I am also quite satisfied that you have taken to revenge as an option. This school has really brought out the best in you._

_Wednesday_

He’d be able to tell who it was without the names at the end. The first part is obviously Father’s flourishing handwriting, while the second is Sister’s neat but reserved lettering.

"A Nimbus Two Thousand!" Ron moans enviously. "I've never even touched one."

They leave the hall quickly, wanting to unwrap the broomstick in private before their first class, but halfway across the entrance hall they find the way upstairs barred by Crabbe and Goyle. Malfoy attempts to seize the package from Harry but is quickly avoided. “What’s that you have there, Potter? Looks like a broomstick," he says, frowning with a mix of jealousy and distaste. "You'll be in for it this time, Potter, first years aren't allowed them."

Ron can't resist it. "It's not any old broomstick. It's a Nimbus Two Thousand. What did you say you've got at home, Malfoy, a Comet Two Sixty?" Ron grins at Harry. "Comets look flashy, but they're not in the same league as the Nimbus."

"What would you know about it, Weasley?” Draco snaps back. “You couldn't afford half the handle. I suppose you and your brothers have to save up twig by twig."

Before Ron could answer, Professor Flitwick appeared at Malfoy's elbow. "Not arguing, I hope, boys?"

“Potter's been sent a broomstick, Professor," Malfoy replies quickly.

"Yes, yes, that's right," Professor Flitwick, beams at Harry. "Professor McGonagall told me all about the special circumstances, Potter. And what model is it?"

"A Nimbus Two Thousand, sir," Harry smiles back at the shorter man. "And it's really thanks to Draco here that I was able to have it sent.”

Harry and Ron head up the stairs towards their tower, listening to Malfoy’s sputtering and raging while they leave.

"It is true," Harry smiles as they reach the top of the marble staircase, "If he hadn't stolen Neville's Remembrall, I might have had to wait for next year to try out for the team.”

"So, I suppose you think that's a reward for breaking rules?" An angry voice sounds from just behind them. Hermione is stomping up the stairs, looking disapprovingly at the package in Harry's hand.

“You’ve decided to speak to us, now,” Harry smiles, delighted. “Pleasure to have you back.”

Hermione just sniffs, still frowning, before walking towards their House’s tower.

***

It’s after dinner, and they’re up in their dormitory. Ron is bouncing on his bed, impatiently waiting for Harry to pull the wrapped package out from under the bed.

As the broom finally comes into display, Ron gasps, while Harry just smiles. The well-polished wood, maintained and cleaned despite Harry being at school for so long. He had asked Thing and Lurch to keep up with it, but he still must thank them in his next letter. It’s obviously been used before; he’d spent the weeks after receiving it flying around the yard. Still, there isn’t even any singeing or nicks anywhere, despite the countless attempts by his siblings to shoot him out of the sky. Before he’d even acquired such a good broom, he’d practiced avoiding projectiles with his mother’s old one to a supreme degree.

“Wow,” Ron is practically gaping at the broomstick.

As seven o’clock draws nearer, Harry heads out towards the Quidditch pitch. He’s been to a few Quidditch games with his family, but being inside of the playing area itself makes the whole thing seem so much bigger.

Harry’s really missed flying on a quality broom. He kicks off of the ground, just casually twisting and turning, going at a decent pace, but not yet trying to reach top speed. It isn’t until he sees Oliver Wood walking out into the stadium.

“Well, Addams,” Oliver smiles. “I can see that Professor McGonagall wasn’t joking when she said you know how to fly. A bit too dark to practice with the Snitch, but,” he pulls a bag of golf balls. “We got enough time to do a few drills.”

***

It’s been a busy few weeks after he first met with Wood. Practice in the three times a week in the evening, along with homework, it’s not surprising. His lessons have even started to pick up, now that the basics of many of the hands-on classes were out of the way.

On the morning of Halloween, the smell of baked pumpkin begins to waft through the corridors of the castle. Now, however, they’re sitting in Charms class, with feathers in front of them. The entire class is buzzing with excitement. Professor Flitwick has told everyone that they are going to be attempting to make objects fly today. He’d had everyone pair up beforehand. Harry’s partner was Seamus Finnegan. Neville had been trying to catch Harry’s eye, but most of the class usually avoids partnering with Seamus, due in part to the fact that a lot of his attempts at using magic have ended up a bit explosive. Literally. Harry, and a few other students who also find those dangerous results exciting, are the only ones willing to risk being in close proximity to the boy. Lavender Brown is even sitting on the far side of the room, after Seamus singed her hair a few lessons ago. What gives Harry mixed feelings about the pairing, though, is that Ron and Hermione are together.

He’s not sure which one of them is angrier at the assignment. Hermione still hasn’t spoken to the two of them since the broom incident, and Ron hasn’t been fond of the girl since day one. On one hand, Harry hopes that the two of them could find some way to settled their differences through this. On the other, Harry doesn’t think that will happen.

"Now, don't forget that nice wrist movement we've been practicing!" Professor Flitwick squeaks atop his pile of books. "Swish and flick, remember, swish and flick. And saying the magic words properly is very important, too -- never forget Wizard Baruffio, who said 's' instead of 'f' and found himself on the floor with a buffalo on his chest."

It was a decently difficult exercise. Theory and practice are much different from each other. On his first attempt, Harry managed to get the feather to move slightly upward before it slipped off of their desk and they had to go chasing after it. On Seamus’s fifth attempt, he set the feather on fire. Harry had a glass of water prepared and was quick to put it out. At the next table, Ron was having even less luck.

"Wingardium Leviosa!" he shouts, waving his long arms like a windmill.

"You're saying it wrong," Harry hears Hermione snap. "It's Wing-gar-dium Levi-o-sa, make the 'gar' nice and long."

"You do it, then, if you're so clever," Ron snarls.

Hermione rolled up the sleeves of her gown, flicked her wand, and said, "Wingardium Leviosa!"

The pairs’ feather then begins to rise gently above their heads, floating steadily about four feet in the air.

"Oh, well done!" Professor Flitwick cries, clapping. "Everyone see here, Miss Granger's done it!"

Ron’s mood began to sour to the point where he was just short of angry by the end of the class.

"It's no wonder no one can stand her," he growls to Harry as they push their way into the crowded corridor. "She's a nightmare, honestly."

Harry’s about to rebuke him, when a body knocks into them as they hurry past. It’s Hermione, with tears streaming down her face.

“I think she heard you.”

“So?” Ron says, but he looks a bit uncomfortable. Like he’s trying to convince himself. “She must’ve noticed she’s got no friends.”

***

Hermione didn’t show up for her next class, which did nothing to help Harry’s concern about her. When he asked, nobody had seen her all afternoon, which only caused it to grow. The first news about her was when he overheard Parvati Patil and Lavender Brown mention her on the way to the Halloween Feast. They said that Hermione was crying in the girls’ bathroom alone and wanted to be left alone. Harry looks at Ron, who looks even more uncomfortable than earlier.

“We’re apologizing to her later,” Harry declares to him, in the no nonsense manner that he learned from Mother during the few times she’s had to rebuke him or his siblings.

Ron opens his mouth, hopefully to agree, but the words are lost as they enter the Great Hall.

Even Harry was stunned at the extent of the decorations. Live bats fluttered around the walls and ceiling, swooping down to make the candles in the pumpkins flicker. A feast appears on those very same golden platters from the start of the year, and everyone begins to dig in.

It’s at that moment that the doors to the Great Hall swing open and Professor Quirrell comes running in, turban askew and terror evident on his face.

“Troll! In the dungeon!” He pants out. “Thought you ought to know.”

He then proceeds to faint where he stands.

An uproar quickly follows the man’s announcement. It’s so tumultuous that it takes multiple purple rockets fired from the tip of the tip of the Headmaster’s wand to quiet things back down to a tolerable level.

“Prefects!” He speaks with the authority of his station. “Lead your Houses back to their dormitories immediately!”

Percy Weasley, for his part, reacts surprisingly quickly and calmly for the situation.

"Follow me! Stick together, first years! No need to fear the troll if you follow my orders! Stay close behind me, now. Make way, first years coming through! Excuse me, I'm a prefect!"

“A troll wouldn’t have been able to sneak in here,” Harry frowns. “As strong as they may be, they are not the brightest of creatures. They would have been discovered before they’d gotten far past the entrance.”

“Maybe Peeves let it in as a Halloween joke,” Ron frowns thoughtfully.

They do their best to follow Percy through the throng of students, being pushed and shoved along the way when Harry suddenly stops, grabbing Ron’s arm.

“Wait, Hermione.”

“What about her?”

“She doesn’t know about the troll.”

Ron purses his lips for a few moments, and Harry starts to think he might say no.

“Oh, alright,” he snaps. “But Percy’d better not see us.”

Ducking down, they join the Hufflepuffs filing the other direction. They then slip through a side corridor and hurry towards the girls’ bathroom. They turn another corner before hear footsteps, forcing them to hide behind a statue of a griffon.

“Percy!” Ron hisses.

But it wasn’t Percy. As the pair peers around the statue they see an interesting sight. Professor Snape’s form comes into view.

“That’s interesting,” Harry mutters. “Isn’t the troll in the dungeons? I thought he’d be down their protecting the Slytherins.”

He happens to be going in the direction they are, so the pair follows the sound of his footsteps until he begins going up a set of stairs.

“He’s going up to the third floor,” Harry observes.

“Can you smell something?”

Harry turns back to look at Ron, sniffing in the air as he does. It smells akin to old socks and an unclean public lavatory.

It’s then that they heard it- a low grunting, with the loud dragging footfalls of gigantic feet. Ron pointed, but there was no need. Even Harry’s eyes were wide at the sight coming towards their direction. They pull each other into the shadows, watching as the creature appears in a patch of moonlight.

Twelve feet tall, with the skin a dull, granite gray and a lumpy boulder-like body to match. Its legs are relatively short for the sheer size of it, but they’re thick as tree trunks. The smell of the troll only intensifies as it passes. There’s a loud scraping, as the long club it carries drags along the floor.

It stops at a doorway at the end of the hall, its ears waggling while it peers inside. Then, it slouches, walking into the door.

Harry is about to cheer at their good fortune, when he realizes what that doorway is.

“Ron!” He whispers, slightly panicked. “That’s the girls’ bathroom!”

“Hermione!” Ron gasps, immediately running towards it.

There’s a crash, and an ear-piercing scream, as they reach the door.

The troll has just spotted Hermione, petrified against the opposite wall. It takes a step forward, breaking what appears to be its second sink.

“I’ll distract it. Sneak around,” Harry orders Ron. “Get Hermione out.”

Ron looks like he wants to protest, but Harry is already moving. He runs over, picking up a faucet from one of the broken sinks. With a throw that would make his siblings proud, the metal object slams directly into the troll’s head.

The troll stops, scratching its head, before looking around, trying to find what hit it. It turns around, and focuses on Harry, who’d already picked up a broken piece of ceramic from a sink. A growl sounds in the back of its throat as it raises its club and lumbers towards Harry.

Harry, for his part, sees that Ron has already started creeping around towards their terrified classmate. He wishes he had his saber, but it’s packed tightly in the bottom of his trunk in his room. Either way, he draws his wand, and readies himself. It’s at this time that he realizes that he doesn’t actually know any attack spells. Makes him also think back to the duel not long ago. Still, it makes him feel good to have a weapon in his hand, as he dives out of the way of the downward swing of the troll’s club.

The problem with that is the shards of tile and ceramic on the ground around him. They cut up his arms and fly through the air as he rolls out of the way, but the water on the floor causes him to slide further than he wanted. Slamming himself against the wall.

The troll, now upset that its blow missed its target, turns to where Harry is scrambling up on the slick floor. As the troll steps towards him, the young wizard realizes he’s cornered. He’s an Addams, though. He’s going down fighting. He raises his wand. Hopefully, he’ll get lucky with one of the spells he’s studied. The behemoth in front of him raises its club again, and-.

“Wingardium Leviosa!”

The club slips out of the troll’s grip as his arm falls. The club stays floating in midair, rising higher. It isn’t Harry that shouted the spell, though. He turns towards where the voice originated from.

Ron, with Hermione next to him, has his wand raised, his eyes focused on the club.

Then, the spell finishes, and the club drops directly on the troll’s head. Harry sees the creature’s eyes roll back in its head. It sways for a moment on the spot, before falling, slamming into the floor with a splash and a crack.

Hermione manages to recover from her shock enough to choke out.

“Is it dead?”

“Trolls are very sturdy,” Harry starts walking towards them. “It’s probably just knocked out. Which is why we should leave before it comes to.”

That motivates the other two people to stand up and follow him towards the door. Hermione’s knees are shaking, so she clings onto Ron for support. Ron, for his part, is too tired to complain. Harry hisses slightly as he cradles his injured arm.

They exited the ruined restroom when a procession of teachers comes charging around the corner of the hall, wands brandished. Harry smiles at Professor McGonagall in the lead.

“The troll is unconscious in there,” Harry tells her. “I’d secure it before it wakes up.”

Snape sends a glare towards the student before rushing into the bathroom. While Professor Quirrell takes a few deep breaths before sliding down the wall to sit beside the door. Professor McGonagall looks at the assembled trio with lip pursed and anger in her eyes.

"What on earth were you thinking of?" Professor McGonagall, with cold fury in her voice. "You're lucky you weren't killed. Why aren't you in your dormitory?"

Harry opens his mouth to explain the situation, trying to put all of the blame on himself, when he’s interrupted by a small voice beside him.

"Please, Professor McGonagall- they were looking for me."

"Miss Granger!"

Hermione was looking at the professor, her eyes apologetic. “I went looking for the troll because I- I thought I could deal with it on my own- you know, because I've read all about them."

Harry blinks in a bit of surprise. Hermione Granger, lying to a teacher. He can tell that Ron is doing all he can not to gape at the girl.

"If they hadn't found me, I'd be dead now. Harry stuck his wand up its nose and Ron knocked it out with its own club. They didn't have time to come and fetch anyone. It was about to finish me off when they arrived."

The two boys do their best to cover up the surprise on their faces as Professor McGonagall studies them.

"Well- in that case..." Professor McGonagall stares at the three of them. "Miss Granger, you foolish girl, how could you think of tackling a mountain troll on your own?"

Hermione bites her lip in shame. Harry is actually quite impressed with her acting skills. He’s also surprised. Out of anyone in this school, he would have expected Hermione be the last one to break any rule, especially if it involved lying to a member of staff. Yet, here she was, lying to Professor McGonagall in order to protect the two of them.

"Miss Granger, five points will be taken from Gryffindor for this," Professor McGonagall frowns. "I'm very disappointed in you. If you're not hurt at all, you'd better get off to Gryffindor tower. Students are finishing the feast in their houses."

At that time, Hermione seems to realize that she was still clinging to Ron. She’s quick to let go, and she leaves towards the tower. The professor then turns towards the two that remained.

"Well, I still say you were lucky, but not many first years could have taken on a full-grown mountain troll. You each win Gryffindor five points. Professor Dumbledore will be informed of this. Mr. Weasley, take Mr. Addams to the hospital wing to be healed. Then, you both will go directly up to your common room.”

The cuts and bruises on Harry’s arm don’t take long to heal, and they’re soon entering the common area of Gryffindor House.

The common room was packed and noisy. Everyone was eating the food that had been sent up. Hermione, however, stood alone by the door, waiting for them. There was a very embarrassed pause. Then, none of them looking at each other, they all say "Thanks," and hurry off to get plates. But from that moment on, Hermione Granger became their friend. There are some things you can't share without ending up liking each other, and knocking out a twelve-foot mountain troll is one of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Harry has a bit more training in combat than he did in the books. Even then, there's a difference between dueling in a fairly controlled environment where your life is in minimal danger and going against a gargantuan beast basically unarmed and on unknowingly hazardous terrain.
> 
> Comments and Kudos. Don't be mean.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quidditch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was especially exhausting, for some reason. I honestly hope that the rest of them aren't like this.
> 
> Either way, new chapter. Thank you for your comments. They really help keep me from procrastinating.

Chapter 7

The temperature drops as November comes around. The mountains become capped with ice and snow, and frost coats the ground in the mornings. Hagrid, bundled up in enough material to make a warm and insulated tent, can be seen defrosting the broomsticks on the Quidditch field, a sign of the beginning of Quidditch season. On Saturday, Harry’s first match begins: Gryffindor versus Slytherin, and a Gryffindor victory would elevate them to second place in the House Championship.

There were a select few people who have seen Harry play. Oliver wished to keep him as a secret weapon. However, the secret had gotten out, and the reactions were varied. He’s had people from every House coming up to him with words of encouragement or telling him they’d have a mattress underneath him for when he falls. He thanks the ones who encourage and laughs along with the ones who are joking.

In all honesty, Hermione becoming their friend was a godsend. He doesn’t usually have trouble with his homework, but with the extra practice Oliver is trying to squeeze in before the first match, he really appreciates having someone to compare work with and help Ron out when he’s too busy.

She even does what she can to assist him in Quidditch. She had the book Quidditch Through the Ages checked out in the library, and it is a fascinating read.

Harry learned that there were seven hundred ways of committing a Quidditch foul and that all of them had happened during a World Cup match in 1473; that Seekers were usually the smallest and fastest players, and that most serious Quidditch accidents seemed to happen to them; that although people rarely died playing Quidditch, referees had been known to vanish and turn up months later in the Sahara Desert. Harry would love to visit the Sahara Desert, but maybe not in that way.

Hermione’s been a little more relaxed about breaking the rules after the troll incident. She hasn’t told the teacher when Harry practices dueling magic in one of the empty classrooms, even after he destroyed a desk. On one of the colder winter days, she even fashioned up a small flame that can be stored in a jar. It’s not too bad, but using magic outside of the classroom and without adults’ supervision is still against the rules, so it’s pretty big for her.

While they’re warming up their backs in the courtyard, they spot Snape walking through the grounds. Correction, the spot Snape limping through the grounds. His leg is quite obviously injured, and he looks all the more frustrated for it. The pair next to Harry move closer together to block the flame from Snape’s eyes, but the movement also brings attention to the trio. He limps over, glaring at them, eyes searching for something to critique.

"What's that you've got there, Potter?"

He’s looking at the book, Harry has to do all he can to keep from looking relieved.

“Just this,” the student holds out Quidditch Through the Ages.

The professor, in his surly manner, snatches the book from his grasp. “Library books are not to be taken outside the school. Five points from Gryffindor.”

He stalks away, a little jerkily because of the limp.

“That’s not a rule,” Hermione grumbles. “I even asked Madame Pince about that.”

“He was just looking for something to take his frustrations out on us,” Harry reasons, frown on his face. “He always does that during class, and the injury can’t be making him feel any better. It’s not very fair though. I wonder how he was hurt.”

“Whatever it is,” Ron growls. “I hope it’s really painful.”

***

The Gryffindor Common Room was a jumble of noise that evening. The trio is going over their Charms homework. Harry hadn’t had a lot of time to finish it, so Hermione is helping him and Ron. Not copying, of course. She’d never let them do that. “How will you learn,” she berated Ron when he suggested it. Either way, they still all end up fairly good grades on the work.

Still, with his work finished, Harry has nothing left to do. It’s awfully dull just sitting around in the noisy room. He stands up.

“I think I’m going to go explore the castle a bit,” he tells his friends. “See if I can’t find some of those secret passageways Fred and George talk about. And maybe, if I happen to pass by there, I might ask Professor Snape if I can have that book back. He might be calm enough to at least let me have it without deducting more points.”

“Better you than me,” the two remaining at the table respond at the same time, looking over Ron’s next set of homework.

Harry takes some time looking around at the different hallways, he found the path behind the statue of Gregory the Smarmy that the Weasley twins talked about a while ago. He didn’t go down it, it was awfully dirty and he didn’t want to mess up his robes. After some more time exploring, he finds himself near the staffroom, where Snape no doubt put his book. Maybe the professor is there right now to ask for it, and if not, he could just grab the book regardless.

As he turns the corner for the room, he suddenly hides behind a suit of armor when a door in front of him slams open. He peeks around the armor, and watches as Professor Snape limps out, with Filch following on his heels. Harry recognizes some healing ointment in the Caretaker’s hands.

“Keeping a beast like that inside the school is just uncalled for,” Filch sneers. “Any dog that size would be dangerous, but you’re lucky the other two heads didn’t get ahold of you as well.”

Harry waits until they’ve exited the corridor before, forgetting about his book, he rushes back to the common room.

***

Harry relates to his two friends what he overheard.

“It means that he’s been trying to get past the three-headed dog,” he whispers to them. “And he was going up there during the Halloween party. He might even be part of the reason the troll was let in. He might be after whatever the dog is guarding.”

Hermione’s eyes go wide at the implication.

"No- he wouldn't, she gasps. "I know he's not very nice, but he wouldn't try and steal something Dumbledore was keeping safe."

"Honestly, Hermione,” Ron snaps. “You think all teachers are saints or something. I'm with Harry. I wouldn't put anything past Snape. But what's he after? What's that dog guarding?"

That question kept Harry up longer than he wanted. He’d very much like to figure that out himself, but he currently has no way to get past that dog. Even Professor Snape couldn’t succeed. He could ask Hermione, but she still doesn’t want to try. Maybe he could talk with his family, but…

Either way, he needs to get some sleep. He closes his eyes, trying to banish the thoughts that his wandering mind bring into his head.

***

It’s sunny the next morning, but it is also a bit cold. Not ideal weather for flying, but there isn’t much to do about that. As they enter the Great Hall, Harry sees that the temperature has not put a damper on the other students. Conversation is abuzz about the upcoming match.

It’s while Harry is snacking on a cooked sausage that the mail comes. What’s a bit surprising, however, is when Hedwig drops a letter next to him at the table. He can’t help but smile. His family had been away for a while, meeting family. Some of his family members are less than popular with many people, so they’ve been outside of where owls can track them. This doesn’t seem to be the case now, though. However, Harry can’t help but smirk at the small bright red envelope that is the letter.

“Hey!” Dean shouts, seeing what is in Harry’s hands. “Harry’s got himself a Howler!”

All of the surrounding eyes turn to look. Ron looks a little nervous, while Hermione has a confused expression. Harry, curious, pops open the letter.

“HARRY, MY BOY!” The voice of his father sounds throughout the Hall. “I COULD NOT BE PROUDER OF YOU! A TROLL, MY WORD! WHY, WHEN I WAS YOUR AGE, I WAS ONLY CHALLENGING ADULT DUELISTS! NEVER IN MY WILDEST DREAMS COULD I HAVE CONSIDERED FIGHTING SUCH A BEAST AT ELEVEN! AND YOU’RE TWO FRIENDS! WHY, THAT RONALD SOUNDS LIKE HE HAS THE MAKING OF AN EXCELLENT DUELIST! AND THAT GRANGER GIRL SOUNDS POSITIVELY BRILLIANT! I WOULD LOVE TO MEET THEM OVER THE HOLIDAYS! ANYWAY! I WISH YOU LUCK AT YOUR QUIDDITCH MATCH, I’M SURE YOU WILL PERFORM STUPENDOUSLY!”

With that, the Howler tears itself up into tiny paper shreds. The entire Great Hall has its attention on the Gryffindor table. Mouths are hanging open, smiles are spread all around, and there are more than a few questionable glances in their direction. Still, Harry is smiling fondly at the torn-up letter at his table. A weight he was feeling on his chest, nerves that he hadn’t even noticed, have all but vanished now.

***

By eleven o’clock, the Quidditch pitch is packed. Binoculars are a common sight in the high stands, due to the sheer size of the field and the small size of the players.

Ron and Hermione have joined Neville, Seamus, and Dean up in the top row of the stands. As a surprise for Harry, the Gryffindor first years had painted a large banner out of some of the sheets Scabbers tore up on Ron’s bed. It said “Potter for President” with a well-drawn Gryffindor lion on it, curtesy of Dean’s artistic ability. Hermione even charmed the paint to change colors.

While the spectators get settled in the stands, the Gryffindor team is changing into their scarlet Quidditch robes.

"Okay, men," he begins.

"And women," Angelina Johnson, a Chaser, adds on.

"And women," Wood nods in agreement. "This is it."

"The big one," Fred Weasley continues for him.

"The one we've all been waiting for," George picks up.

"We know Oliver's speech by heart," Fred whispers to Harry, "we were on the team last year."

"Shut up, you two," the captain gives the twins a small glare. "This is the best team Gryffindor's had in years. We're going to win. I know it."

The look in his eyes seems to hold an “Or else.”

"Right. It's time. Good luck, all of you."

Harry follows Fred and George out of the locker room onto the field, the crowds cheering as the teams walk out. Madame Hooch, the referee for the Quidditch matches at Hogwarts, stands in the middle of the field with her broom in hand.

"Now, I want a nice fair game, all of you," she frowns at both teams. Her gaze seems to waver on the Slytherin captain, a sixth year named Marcus Flint.

Harry can’t help but smile when, out of the corner of his eye, he spots a large banner emblazoned with “Potter for President.”

“Mount your brooms, please.”

Harry slips onto his Nimbus Two Thousand. Madame Hooch brings her whistle up to her mouth.

At the sound, fifteen brooms shoot up into the air, and the game begins.

"And the Quaffle is taken immediately by Angelina Johnson of Gryffindor- what an excellent Chaser that girl is, and rather attractive, too-"

"JORDAN!"

"Sorry, Professor."

Lee Jordan, the friend that the Weasley twins talk about, does the commentary for most of the matches, but he’s closely watched by Professor McGonagall.

"And she's really belting along up there, a neat pass to Alicia Spinnet, a good find of Oliver Wood's, last year only a reserve- back to Johnson and- no, the Slytherins have taken the Quaffle, Slytherin Captain Marcus Flint gains the Quaffle and off he goes- Flint flying like an eagle up there- he's going to sc- no, stopped by an excellent move by Gryffindor Keeper Wood and the Gryffindors take the Quaffle- that's Chaser Katie Bell of Gryffindor there, nice dive around Flint, off up the field and- OUCH- that must have hurt, hit in the back of the head by a Bludger- Quaffle taken by the Slytherins- that's Adrian Pucey speeding off toward the goal posts, but he's blocked by a second Bludger- sent his way by Fred or George Weasley, can't tell which- nice play by the Gryffindor Beater, anyway, and Johnson back in possession of the Quaffle, a clear field ahead and off she goes- she's really flying- dodges a speeding Bludger- the goal posts are ahead- come on, now, Angelina- Keeper Bletchley dives- misses- GRYFFINDORS SCORE!"

Cheers sound from the Gryffindor section, while jeers and howling can be heard from the Slytherins.

In the stands, a familiar face joins the Gryffindor section.

"Budge up there, move along."

“Hagrid!”

Ron and Hermione happily squeeze closer to each other to allow the much larger man to have a place to sit.

"Bin watchin' from me hut," Hagrid tells them, patting a large pair of binoculars around his neck, "But it isn't the same as bein' in the crowd. No sign of the Snitch yet, eh?"

"Nope," Ron frowns. "Harry hasn't had much to do yet."

"Kept outta trouble, though, that's somethin'," Hagrid purses his lips, raising his binoculars and peering skyward at the speck higher above the rest of the players.

Harry is keeping a bird’s eye view on the playing field. High up in the sky, he searches for any indication of the gold flicker on the field that would represent his target.

"Keep out of the way until you catch sight of the Snitch," Wood told him the strategy before the match. "We don't want you attacked before you have to be."

He keeps a close eye on the game. At one point, he sees a glimmer of gold, but it was just one of the Weasley’s wrist watches. A Bludger flies towards him, only for the Seeker to do a smooth roll to dodge the offending object.

“Alright there, Harry?” Fred calls as he flies by after the Bludger, pelting it towards Marcus Flint with his bat.

"Slytherin in possession," Lee Jordan keeps up his announcing, "Chaser Pucey ducks two Bludgers, two Weasleys, and Chaser Bell, and speeds toward the- wait a moment- was that the Snitch?"

A murmur runs through the crowd as the Quaffle slips out of the grip of Adrian Pucey, who’s too busy looking over his shoulder at the flash of gold that had passed his left ear.  
Harry zeroes in on that small golden ball, diving quickly towards the fluttering object. Slytherin Seeker Terence Higgs sees it, too. They both react at about the same time, but Harry’s broom is faster, and he quickly gains distance. The Snitch is in his sight, darting around like a hummingbird. He’s almost there. He reaches out his hand-.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees a quick darting of movement, heading right towards him. There’s only enough time to pull up. There’s still a glancing blow, as a streak of green sends him off balance, and he has to reorient himself in the air. There’s a roar from the Gryffindor section.

“Foul!”

Harry turns around to see Marcus Flint being berated by Madame Hooch for an illegal blocking of the Seeker. Said Seeker searches frantically while Madame Hooch awards Gryffindor with a free shot. Sadly, the Snitch has vanished from sight again.

Down in the stands, Dean Thomas is yelling.

"Send him off, ref! Red card!"

"What are you talking about, Dean?" Ron frowns.

"Red card!" Dean snaps, furious. "In soccer you get shown the red card and you're out of the game!"

"But this isn't soccer, Dean," Ron reminds him.

Hagrid, however, backs Dean. "They oughta change the rules. Flint coulda knocked Harry outta the air."

Lee Jordan was finding it difficult not to take sides. "So- after that obvious and disgusting bit of cheating-.”

"Jordan!" growls Professor McGonagall.

"I mean, after that open and revolting foul-.”

'Jordan, I'm warning you-."

"All right, all right. Flint nearly kills the Gryffindor Seeker, which could happen to anyone, I'm sure, so a penalty to Gryffindor, taken by Spinner, who puts it away, no trouble, and we continue play, Gryffindor still in possession."

Harry dodges another Bludger that seemed to be aiming for his head. He’s flying slowly around the field, looking for the Snitch, when his broom gives a sudden lurch. The young Seeker frowns down at it, confused, when it gives another. And another, even worse than before.

He tries to turn back to the goalposts to tell Oliver to call a timeout, but he realizes that his broom isn’t listening. Then, the lurching and zigzagging get even more intense. It’s as if his broom was trying to buck him off. He hangs on for dear life as the thing continues its erratic movements. At any other time, the need to hang on and threat of death would be exhilarating and exciting for the young Addams, but he’s in the middle of a match.

"Slytherin in possession,” Lee Jordan continues his announcing. “Flint with the Quaffle- passes Spinnet- passes Bell- hit hard in the face by a Bludger, hope it broke his nose- only joking, Professor- Slytherins score- A no...”

The Slytherins cheer at the goal. No one seems to notice Harry’s broom behaving strangely. It seemed to carrying him higher and higher, away from the game, jerking and twitching as it went.

"Dunno what Harry thinks he's doing," Hagrid mumbles, staring through his binoculars. "If I didn' know better, I'd say he'd lost control of his broom... but he can't have...."

Suddenly, people start pointing at Harry from the stands. His broom rolls over and over, and he has to hook his legs together underneath it to keep from falling off. He then starts lurching back and forth, up and down; continuing its efforts to kick Harry off of it.

"Did something happen to it when Flint blocked him?" Seamus whispers.

"Can't have," Hagrid frowns, his voice shaking as he watches Harry. "Can't nothing interfere with a broomstick except powerful Dark magic- no kid could do that to a Nimbus Two Thousand."

At these words, Hermione snatches Hagrid's binoculars, but instead of looking up at Harry, she scans the crowd frantically.

"What are you doing?" moans Ron, worry evident on his face.

"I knew it," Hermione gasps. "Snape- look."

Hermione hands off the binoculars to Ron, and points to the stands opposite them. Ron peers through the binoculars to see the Potions Professor, eyes fixed on Harry and muttering nonstop under his breath.

"He's doing something,” Hermione explains. “Jinxing the broom.”

"What should we do?"

"Leave it to me."

Before Ron could question that, Hermione had vanished. Ron turns the binoculars back to Harry, whose broom is currently vibrating in an attempt to get Harry to let go. Everyone in the stands is looking up at the spectacle above them. The Weasleys are trying to get to him, but any time they get close, the broom would just rise even higher away. Instead, they and most of the rest of the team has taken to floating below the Seeker, just to make sure that they can catch him if he falls. During this time, Marcus Flint steals the Quaffle and scores five times without anyone noticing.

“Come on, Hermione,” Ron pleads, eyes not moving from Harry.

Hermione, with the determination to save her friend, fights her way across the stands to where Professor Snape is. Finally, she makes it to the row behind him, rushing so much that she doesn’t even apologize when she almost knocks Professor Quirrell over. She reaches Snape, and crouching down behind him, mutters a few words before bright blue flames shoot from her wand onto Snape’s clothes.

It takes roughly half a minute before Snape realizes he’s on fire. He yelps in surprise, and with the knowledge she’s done her job, Hermione scoops the flame into a jar and scrambles back along the row. Now, nobody will know what happened.

Harry for his part, has gained control of his broom. However, during the entire thing, the young Seeker had been desperately trying to lower his elevation while holding on. With the sudden regaining of his broom, that sends him into a steep nosedive. The audience sees the boy clap his hands over his mouth, as if he’s about to be sick, before barely pulling up in order to land on the grass in a roll. As he’s kneeling on the lawn, he coughs up something into his hands. Looking down, he sees a small golden ball in his hands.  
“Look here!” He holds up the Snitch, laughing jovially. “Look what I’ve got!”

***

Even twenty minutes later, Marcus Flint is still howling in protest.

“He didn’t catch it!” The Slytherin captain shouts. “He nearly swallowed it!”

But Harry hadn’t broken any rules, and Lee Jordan was still announcing the resulting Gryffindor victory. The Seeker who made that victory possible is nowhere to be seen. He’s instead with his friends at Hagrid’s hut, sipping on a strong black tea. Exciting or not, near death experiences tend to take the energy out of you.

"It was Snape," Ron explains. "Hermione and I saw him. He was cursing your broomstick, muttering, he wouldn't take his eyes off you."

"Rubbish," Hagrid scoffs, having not heard a word of what had gone on next to him in the stands. "Why would Snape do somethin' like that?"

“Well, we know he doesn’t like Harry very much,” Ron glowers.

“Perhaps he really had seen me when he had exited the staffroom,” Harry reasons. “A cover up would be a good explanation.” He looks at Hagrid. “He was injured while trying to get past the three-headed dog. He could be after whatever it’s guarding.”

Hagrid drops the teapot.

“How do you know about Fluffy?”

"Fluffy?"

"Yeah. He's mine. Bought him off a Greek chappie I met in the pub las' year. I lent him to Dumbledore to guard the-.”

Harry looks at the large man expectantly.

"Now, don't ask me anymore," Hagrid harrumphs. "That's top secret, that is."

“Whatever it is,” Harry frowns. “Professor Snape is interested in it.”

"Rubbish," Hagrid repeats. "Snape's a Hogwarts teacher, he's not doin’ nothin’."

"So why did he just try and kill Harry?" Hermione cries, hands in fists at her sides. The afternoon's events certainly seemed to have changed her mind about Snape. “I know a jinx when I see one, Hagrid, I've read all about them! You've got to keep eye contact, and Snape wasn't blinking at all, I saw him!"

"I'm tellin' yeh, yer wrong!" Hagrid frowns, eyes now in a slight glare. "I don' know why Harry's broom acted like that, but Snape wouldn’ try an' kill a student! Now, listen to me, all three of yeh, yer meddlin' in things that don' concern yeh. It's dangerous. You forget that dog, an' you forget what it's guardin', that's between Professor Dumbledore an' Nicolas Flamel-"

“Nicolas Flamel?” Harry perks up a bit more at that. “Where have I heard that before?”

Hagrid shuts up for the rest of their short visit, obviously furious with himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Questions, comments, concerns, jokes. Feedback on your thoughts about the fic, as well as if you want to know my thoughts on the changes.
> 
> Comments and Kudos. Don't be mean.


End file.
